But Sons Do It Better
by SilentSpeaker13
Summary: Sequel to Father Knows Best! K2! Kenny has a goal...seduce Kyle Broflovski. Kyle's afraid. Be afraid Kyle, be very afraid.  Rated for language and adult themes
1. Resistance is Futile

**AN: Ok, sequel to _Father Knows Best, _took a little longer than planned. More notes at the end, hope you like it! Please review! Oh yeah and I don't own South Park, Trey Parker and Matt Stone do...lucky bastards.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed/reviews and special thanks to **

**nightingale27: Thanks! I like seductive Kenny too, it's fun :) Haha and yeah, I couldn't think of any way Stuart would actually have a full out convo about it, so he got drunk and blunt instead.**

**Hazins: Yay perversion! Yeah, Kenny is a perverted little bastard, but he's our perverted little bastard! XD, and much thanks for multiple reviews, I really appreciate it!**

**CrissyPalXD: Haha, your review made me laugh out loud, that's what I live for :-p**

**Lily Ann: Thanks! Plenty of Kyle molestation to come!  
><strong>

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><p>After two weeks of being on the receiving end of Kenny McCormick's sexual advances Kyle Broflovski had come to one definite conclusion.<p>

Kenny was fucking terrifying.

He had become very certain of this, so certain in fact that he was sure it should jump past theory and be categorized as a scientific law. It was simply undisputable.

Kyle had assumed that because of their friendship Kenny would relent after Kyle had unequivocally shot him down. He had assumed that by the end of the week Kenny's jokes, or what he hoped to God were jokes, would die down. He had hoped that Kenny would leave Kyle in peace after witnessing just how uncomfortable, and freaked out, he had become. He had prayed that because they had known each other since preschool Kenny would stop eye-fucking him every time they crossed paths.

Unfortunately for Kyle Kenny didn't seem to share his sentiments.

For half a week Kyle had been subjected to winks and vague sexual innuendos, things that were disquieting but harmless enough. Around day three, however, Kenny had decided to up the ante: touches that lasted just a few seconds too long, various body parts that kept "accidentally" brushing up against his ass, feeling the need to whisper into his ear instead of just speaking to his face like a normal human being. Kyle seemed to be the only one who was concerned though and the scene played out the same: the blood would drain from Kyle's face, Kenny would play innocent, Cartman would roll his eyes and call them fags, and Stan remained oblivious to Kyle's precarious predicament.

The fact that even Stan couldn't, or wouldn't, help him was kind of pissing him off. All he had done when he saw Kyle's pale face was stop to ask, "Dude, are you sick or something?" leaving Kyle in the awkward position of having to choose between sounding like an overreacting prick or keep his mouth shut while he watched Kenny's eyes flicker with somewhat malicious amusement. Needless to say there had been a lot of teeth-gritting that week.

Afraid for the sake of his teeth, his ass, and his super best friend's neck as he restrained himself from throttling Stan into awareness of the situation, Kyle had determined that there was only one way to save himself. Hide out until Kenny had given up on his little "I'm gonna fuck Kyle come Hell or high water" mission.

As far as he was concerned it was all for the best. He stayed safe and sane and avoided any fallout by avoiding the awkwardness all together. Everyone would be happy. Well, maybe everyone except Kenny, but right now he really didn't give a rat's ass about satisfying Kenny in any way, shape, or form.

Kyle had been so sure in the perfection of his plan. He had felt so superior in his victory. His smugness was immediately laid to waste though when he realized he had forgotten one important detail.

Stan, at times, could be a whiny little bitch.

Kyle loved Stan, knew all of his wonderful qualities and quirks and wouldn't have traded his friendship with his lifelong friend for anything. That still didn't keep Stan from having some really fucking annoying habits.

Just as much as Kyle's stubbornness and self-righteousness pissed off Stan, Stan's willful obliviousness and subsequent bitching and moaning pissed off Kyle.

The first day Stan called and whined about his conspicuous absence he had rolled his eyes and refused again to leave his house.

The second day he rolled his eyes, gritted his teeth, and told Stan once again that he would not hang out.

The third day he snapped at Stan to leave him the hell alone and got into a brief argument with his best friend.

When they were speaking again on day five Stan changed tactics. Instead of hounding Kyle he had decided to resort to the "cheap shot" method of persuasion. Guilt.

Seventeen years under the wing of Sheila Broflovski had rendered Kyle nearly helpless to guilt. He hated how stereotypical it was, how pathetic it made him feel, but try as he might the result was always the same. He caved. With most people he could stay strong if the guilt trip was brief and relatively unconvincing, but there were two exceptions to this rule: Sheila Broflovski and Stan Marsh.

If his mother guilted him he was dead in the water before it even began. In Stan's case it was a little different. Depending on the situation Stan's first attempts at guilt may have gone unheeded. The problem lay in how well Stan knew Kyle. Stan knew that Kyle, with persistence and a sad face would be unable to deny him anything. For having no sexual interest in him Kyle was fucking whipped by his best friend. The only thing that gave Kyle comfort in moments like these was the knowledge that Stan was just as whipped for him.

It was that on day three of Stan's guilt attack, day seven on his vow of social celibacy, that Stan finally cracked Kyle.

Kyle had been sitting aimlessly at his computer when his phone had rung. He had looked down and sighed at the ID shining on the screen, the light stingingly bright as though fueled by Stan's own insistence.

"What?" His greeting had been short and curt; he wanted to prolong his self-pitying solitude for a few more days…or weeks.

"Aw, come on dude! We haven't hung out all week!"

He gritted his teeth. He felt his resolve crumbling in spite of his irritation.

"And I don't want to now Stan. Bye."

"Wait! Kyle, come on dude. What the hell is wrong?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his desk chair and tried to ignore the flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

It had been two weeks and one day since he had learned about his "family curse". And two weeks and one day since Kenny had apparently made it his goal to jump Kyle's bones; from which he could only deduce that it had been two weeks and one day since Kenny had heard a similar story from his own dad. It was pretty damn creepy to think about. And it caused him discomfort on multiple levels.

"Come on Kyle. I miss hanging out with my super best friend."

There it was, the clincher. It was so cheesy, so gay, but it worked. Stan had uttered the last sentence so soft and pathetically that Kyle could practically see the pleading look on Stan's face.

Stan knew him too well. He was fucked.

He sighed, "Okay. Just stop being all emo-goth, you big pussy."

Stan let out a little whoop of victory through the phone…it reminded him of Kenny. His fading blush grew again.

"Sweet dude, what do," but Stan was cut off.

"But just you and me."

"Okay," Stan's voice was laden with confusion, "Why?"

"Just cause. You have to swear on it Stan."

"What? God, and I'm the one being a pussy?"

"Just swear on it." Kyle was adamant.

"Alright, alright. I swear Kyle it'll be just you and me." Stan sounded sincere.

"Do you swear on your life?"

"Yes Kyle, I swear on my life." Stan sounded sardonic.

"And do you swear on Jesus?"

"Sure Kyle, I swear on Jesus." Stan sounded impatient.

"Now do you swear on Moses?"

"Jesus Christ Kyle! I swear on my life, Jesus, Moses, and the fucking sanctity of our friendship! Is that goddamn good enough?"

Despite the dripping sarcasm of Stan's question, there was a pause over the line as Kyle seriously considered it.

"Kyle, I promise. Just get your ass over here." Stan's voice was casual again, but oddly muffled.

"Aw gross dude, you're talking while you're eating? Fine, I'll come over, just don't do that while I'm there, it's disgusting dude."

Kyle could feel the roll of his friend's eyes.

"Fine. See ya."

So despite some hesitance and annoyance Kyle had ventured from the safety of home turf. Eventually he was actually happy to be at Stan's. It was nice, normal. Just the two of them playing video games and ripping on each other was comfortable territory. Kyle had actually felt himself begin to relax and enjoy himself. As long as Stan didn't question him he didn't have to think about Kenny here. Shooting zombies on a plastic screen was a great distraction from obsessive thoughts about close friends and sexual conquests.

All in all it had been a pretty good day. By the time the pair headed downstairs for food he'd nearly forgotten all about curses and McCormicks and Broflovskis.

But then, of course, it all went to shit.

He knew he shouldn't have reacted the way that he did. In reality it was ridiculous to think that Stan's dad had also been a part of this whole fucked up situation. He groaned as he felt a blush creeping in, the memory of his departure fresh in his mind.

_Great, I just convinced Stan I was okay and then I had to do that._

Stan may have backed off before, but Kyle knew it wouldn't last. Well, at least not after his little performance this afternoon. If he didn't end up getting a call tonight Kyle knew he would be in for it tomorrow morning at the bus stop. For once in his life Kyle prayed that Wendy would butt in and monopolize Stan's time and attention span.

He stared up at the ceiling and studied the glow-in-the-dark star stickers there, the remnants of his fast-ending childhood. His thoughts were whirling inside his skull, thick, heavy, and dizzying.

Even if he managed to avoid Stan's questions tonight there would be no escape tomorrow. And Kenny would be there and there was no escaping him either. Skipping school wasn't an option…and neither was playing sick. Being stuck at home with his mom sounded just as bad, maybe worse, than Kenny's game of "grab ass". No, he was stuck for sure, somewhere between a rock and Kenny's "hard place". All he could do was pray that Stan would forget and Kenny would keep his hands to himself.

Though lately neither seemed likely.

Kyle rolled onto his side and pulled his knees closer to his chest. In the deepest depths of himself he could feel a pit of something writhing in him. It was somewhere just below his stomach, warm and prickly, a combination of fear and a feeling he didn't want to name.

Stan's questions scared him. Kenny scared him. What scared him most, though, was this feeling he couldn't, or wouldn't, name. It was the reason he didn't mind Kenny's advances as much as he claimed. It was the thing that reared its head when Kenny smiled, or winked, or brushed up against him. Even if it was only slight, he felt a want to give into Kenny. He could feel it like a compulsion, a driving force that made it necessity more than desire. It fucking terrified him more than anything he had ever felt before. This thing…this feeling was new and unknown and he didn't want anything to do with it.

He knew what it would be like if he gave in to it.

There were two possibilities and he could see both all too clearly. At best Kenny might disregard the whole incident afterwards, staring in disbelief at Kyle later as if to say, "What? You thought that meant something? Why would it mean anything?"

Or, of course, there was the worse option.

Kyle could see Kenny laughing his ass off, wiping tears from his eyes as the laughter became magnified by everyone else he knew. Everyone would be laughing at him, howling at the idea that Kyle had given himself to Kenny. He would be like a pig to the slaughter, a giant joke played on him for the cruel amusement of others.

Kyle didn't know Kenny as well as he knew Stan, but he still knew him. Kyle knew Kenny well enough to know his angelic man-boy appearance didn't always match his demeanor. Kenny's golden blond hair and deep blue eyes only emphasized his childish face. His voice had remained a light tenor, masculine but octaves above his alto-voiced friends. The sparkle of his eyes and his crooked grin couldn't help but add to the boyish charm that he exuded from every pore. There was an air of innocence that managed to cling to him even after you had learned what a pervert he could be.

But there was an imp in that angel's face.

Kenny also pulled pranks and cursed worse than any sailor. Kenny knew more about sex than anyone his age and most people twice his age. Kenny's temper could be rash and abrupt without warning. There was a streak in Kenny's sense of humor that teetered on malicious.

Kenny could be base. Kenny could be perverted. Kenny could be crude, rude, and almost cruel, but still, he was Kenny. Underneath it all there was a vulnerability and sweetness that shone through. There were moments when you couldn't imagine anyone as selfless and loyal as Kenny existed. Kenny was Kenny. Love him or hate him that's what he was, plain and simple.

He could be the smirking Devil one minute and two minutes later he'd smile and have you convinced he was as pure and innocent as a new born babe.

Kenny would never try to destroy him, Kyle knew that, but they were different here. Kyle didn't brush off things like Kenny did, especially when it came to sex.

_If I give in…there's…there's just nothing good there._

He could feel his heart beating a little faster, his breath quickening. His despair was turning into a hyperventilating fear. He needed to rally against everything in him, every single little twisted cell that wanted to give into Kenny even microscopically.

He couldn't give in. He just couldn't

_No…no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!_

"No," it was whispered in a puff of breath.

Air filled his lungs as he inhaled deeply and held it. A moment passed as a change overtook him and he let the captive air escape his lungs with a _whoosh_.

Green eyes closed momentarily and then opened. The change was instantaneous and momentous. Any trace of fear and confusion had been wiped clean from him. His mouth was set in a tight line, his eyes defiant; his muscles were tense with determination. He unfolded and stood. He strode to the bathroom, stopping in front of the medicine cabinet mirror. As he gripped the sink he peered in, watching the movements of his face. Fierce resolution was the only emotion visible there, the only betrayal of its superficiality a slight glint in his eyes.

He studied his face until he was satisfied. Finally he broke his self-directed gaze with a sigh as he pushed himself from the sink. He would succeed at this. It was like any other problem he'd faced. All he needed was logic, perseverance, and will power.

_I can do this, I can do this_.

Now all he had to do was face Stan and Kenny first thing tomorrow morning.

_Fuck_.

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><p><strong>AN: Okay, first chap done. It took a little longer than planned cause I had an infection, I'm brainstorming stuff right now so hopefully I'll have the next chapter done and out soon. This was kinda like a prelude so others will probably be longer. This story is going to be slightly more serious, but still trying to be funny, than <em>Father Knows Best<em> but hopefully y'all still like it! Thanks for reading! Please review! **

**Oh, P.S.: If you want a song that's really a theme of Kenny's perversion, listen to this or read the lyrics. 'Whipped Cream' by Ludo. I don't own the song...but I do love it.**


	2. Give Up?  Why Would I Do That?

**AN: WOO! This took long enough, and it's only chapter 2, lots more to come! I don't own South Park! I love reviews! I really, really love reviews! Please review! Oh, and if Matt Stone and Trey Parker wanna sell SP to me for dirt cheap I'd totally take it, cause dirt cheap is abouts all I can afford. Onto the molestation adventure!**

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><p><em>"I think I'm entitled to your body<em>

_gotta little problem with personal space_

_and I've been poundin' the jaeger,_

_my breath and behavior _  
><em>have been driving the patrons away." -Ludo, "Whipped Cream"<em>

A fine mist of water droplets was falling over the quiet little mountain town of South Park, Colorado. It was a mid-October morning and the sun was still low in the autumn sky, camouflaged by fog and clouds. By all accounts it was a dreary day, one of the last chilly rainfalls that served to remind the grumbling residents of mountainous Colorado towns of the long and frigid winter season ahead. Chilly rain would lead to freezing rain and freezing rain would lead to hail, which would lead to snow, then flurries, then blizzards and ice and angry citizens. It was the kind of weather, the kind of day, where everyone ended up just pissed off and miserable.

Kenny McCormick, it would seem, had not gotten the message.

He had no coat on. He had no umbrella. All he had to protect him from the freezing mist was his much loved parka with its much loved hood and the gloves on his hands. But still, he was happy.

Though "happy" was a bit of an understatement.

Hood up and tightly drawn, his gloved hands were shoved into his jean pockets as he rocked back and forth on the heels and balls of his feet. There was a smile plastered on his face as he rocked and hummed; he was as giddy as the first time he'd seen a boob. He was currently adding his own personal to "Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah" as he hummed the tune in accompaniment to the lyrics in his head.

_Kyle can't avoid me, Kyle can't stay a-waaay. No Kyle can't avoid me and soon I'm gonna get lai-_

"Hey Stan!"

"Nnmmph"

Kenny laughed at Stan's groggy response. Stan never had been a morning person.

Of course, Kenny would've normally been in a similar state…but that didn't matter today!

"Aw, did wittle Stanwey not sweep well? What, wet dreams about Cartman and Butters?"

"Fuck, you sicko! Now I'm gonna have that image in my head!" Stan shuddered.

Kenny held his stomach as he laughed.

"How are you so awake, what did you snort Kenny?" Stan's rubbed his temples with closed eyes.

"Mmm, I'm as sober as a motherfucking saint Stan. I just got a good night's sleep after your girlfriend tired me out last night."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck who?" Kyle approached with Ike trailing behind him.

"Well Kyle, you could always fuck me," the purred words were joined by a Cheshire cat grin that Kenny pulled down on his parka to reveal.

"Kenny!" Kyle glared at Kenny and gave a head jerk in the direction of his younger brother.

"The lil' squirts gotta learn about sex sometime."

"Hey, I already know about it! I'm not a baby!"

"Ike, you're too young to hear about this stuff. You're only eleven; you shouldn't be listening to Kenny."

_Goddamn, Kyle's his fucking mom. Jesus fucking Christ, he's even got his hands on his hips._

For all his genius Ike was pouting like the petulant adolescent he was. Had it not been so hilarious to watch the sibling bickering and was he not trying to get into the older brother's pants, Kenny might have been inclined to help Ike out.

"Alright _Mom_, geez," Ike beat Kenny to the punch.

Kenny slid up close to Kyle's side, slipped an arm around the Jew's waist and pulled him up against his own tightly. He leaned sideways to speak with a tongue smooth as silk and light as gossamer.

"Hey Mom, wanna play house? -Ooph!" Kyle's nudged Kenny's stomach with enough force to release the blonde's hold.

"Ow, Jesus Kyle, you don't have to be a little bitch about it," Kenny's left hand rubbed his stomach as he scowled.

"Whatever Kenny," Kyle's reply was nonchalant as he rolled his eyes.

"Guys, will you just shut up? You're giving me a headache," Stan was rubbing his temples again.

"Welcome to the World of the Living dude," Kyle said with a raised eyebrow, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine, it's just too goddamn early for this."

"The bus should be here soon dude."

"Where's Cartman? He's gonna miss the bus."

"Who cares where the fatass is; he's probably getting a ride from his mom…or one of her Johns," Kyle shifted the weight of his backpack. "Dude, did you hear they might make a Terrence and Philip movie three?"

Ike and Kenny let themselves fade into the background as the two super best friends kept up the conversation, Kyle with words and Stan with grunts. Kenny narrowed his eyes as he watched Kyle's face and hands give his words animation.

Kyle's reactions had bothered him. There had been no blush, no stuttering, no nothing. Kyle had acted just like he would've a month ago…or any time before the "curse" business. It was like Kenny's come-ons had no weight to them, no significance. It kinda bothered Kenny.

No, scratch that. It pissed him off.

But as fate would have it the bus chose that moment to roll up to their stop. Kyle stood behind his brother to gently push him to the front, as per usual. Ike sat down almost immediately to join the other underclassmen. The trio of juniors made their way toward the back to sit with their peers. As always, Stan and Kyle sat down next to one another, filling one side of the row of brown vinyl-covered seats. Kenny slid to the window side of the opposing seat; he picked at the duct tape covering the ripped vinyl. Who had picked the color anyway? It was, like, one shade above "shit brown". Nobody had thought it was a good color since 1968.

Then again, that was probably when this shitty bus was made. Really it was a miracle the damn thing didn't fall apart piece by piece as it traversed potholes. Kenny was pretty sure that there were actually day laborers pushing it from the inside in place of an engine.

But really, cracked vinyl and "shit brown" and crappy buses weren't preoccupying his thoughts. No, Kenny was surreptitiously watching Kyle as he and Stan talked…or rather, Kyle talked to Stan. It seemed as though Stan was still in a half-awake state and Kyle had decided to take it upon himself to supply both sides of the conversation.

It really was funny, some of the traits Kyle had inherited from his larger-than-life, overbearing mother.

Since Kenny's line of sight was free today of the usual visual obstruction that was Cartman he took this opportunity to study Kyle. The noise around him faded as he regarded the redhead like a math problem, the complex kind that frequently caused him to flunk math quizzes with flying, failing colors. It was the kind of problem he'd usually ask Kyle for help on.

Unfortunately Kyle seemed prejudiced against helping him on this one. And undeservedly so, in Kenny's humble opinion.

A face that reeked of an innocence more potent than Kyle's suddenly ended his study of the redheaded Jew.

"Well, hiya fellas."

Stan grunted a response.

"Hey Butters," Kenny and Kyle replied in unison, they looked at each other.

"Where's Eric?" Butters asked, he was still standing in the aisle, one hand on the back of seat in front of Kenny.

"Who the hell cares where Cartman is," Kyle scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

Butters looked down for a moment, but didn't say anything back; he turned to look at Kenny.

"Do you mind if I sit here Kenny?"

Kenny really wanted to say no, he didn't want Butters interfering with his visual dissection of his intended target. He looked up at Butters' sweet, kid-like face and sighed inwardly. How could you say no to a guy who openly admitted to liking "Hello Kitty"?...at sixteen still.

"Yeah, sure Butters," he moved over to the window, allowing Butters to slide in next to him.

"Well, thanks Kenny," Butters flashed him a sincere, closed-mouth smile as he turned to join the conversation between Kyle and, well, Kyle.

Had his hood not been up his friends might have noticed the borderline pout that graced Kenny's face. Why the hell couldn't Kyle be just a little more like Butters? He was certain he could sweet-talk Butters into having sex with him. Hell, he could probably trick Butters into begging Kenny for sex, God knows Cartman had gotten that kid to do some pretty fucked up shit. But no, he was destined to get into the pants of the only guy who was allergic to the idea of sex. Fuck, Kyle probably had a fucking chastity belt in his closet. He wouldn't be surprised if Kyle had one on now, it would explain Kyle's expression when he looked at Kenny like he had a thorny stick up his ass.

Ah, yes, that look. The one Kyle was fixing him with right now. Apparently Kenny had actually been staring at his favorite little Jew while he had been staring off into space. Kenny scowled back as Kyle gave him one last sour, petulant look before shifting his attention back to Butters, who had failed to notice Kyle's mental absence. He hissed and narrowed his eyes further, moving to the side to catch Kyle's attention again, but the other seemed to be purposefully ignoring his efforts.

Okay, that fucking did it. Now, Kenny thought, Kyle had worn out the last thread of Kenny's patience. He had tolerated Kyle's avoidance on the subject, his seven day disappearance, and even redheaded verbal and physical violence, but this…this was the last fucking straw. He was not going to be fucking ignored by his fucking friend Kyle fucking Broflovski.

Oh but Kyle probably thought otherwise. He probably expected Kenny would roll over and play nice or something, he expected Kenny to act like Stan would, like Stan had, in these situations. Fuck that. If Kyle thought that was what would happen, he was sorely mistaken…and shit would he be sorry.

_If that's the way you're gonna play Kyle, fine, game fucking on. This is war now._

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><p>Stan half-stifled a yawn, standing a little straighter as Kyle's locker closed with a loud clang. The redhead watched his friend in disbelief, brown bag lunch in hand.<p>

"Dude, aren't you awake yet?" Kyle's eyebrow was raised again in disbelief. "It's already lunchtime."

"I'm awake," Stan tried to look alert in defense, "I'm just a little tired, that's all. I was up late."

Kyle said nothing; he didn't want anything to remind Stan of yesterday's events. Usually this would have been Kyle's turn to question Stan until satisfied with his friend's answers and overall health, but today he remained conspicuously tight-lipped; not that Stan actually noticed.

"Dude," now Stan actually did look awake, eyes wide with a sudden realization. "What the hell was with you yesterday? You were fine one minute and then you just fucking flipped out. I tried, but I have no fucking clue what's with you."

"Nothing," but Kyle wouldn't look Stan in the eye; shit, don't blush, don't blush, don't blush. Shit. Then he frowned and looked at Stan incredulously. "Wait, is that why you were up late?"

Stan chose to ignore that last part.

"Bullshit, seriously dude, what the fuck?"

"I said it was nothing," Kyle snapped, "Come on, we're gonna miss lunch."

And with that Kyle turned and strode toward the cafeteria, leaving his super best friend to his frustrated concern. A grating voice chose that moment to distract Stan from his puzzled thoughts and theories.

"Jewboy got some more sand in his vagina today than usual?"

"Shut up Catman," Stan rolled his eyes.

"Jesus Hippie, just cause your faggy little boyfriend isn't putting out don't take it out on me," Cartman snorted.

"Yeah fatass, I'm the one with a girlfriend, I must be gay."

"So glad you could finally admit it Stan, now you can go bone Kyle."

"It's called sarcasm fatass."

This time Cartman rolled his eyes at Stan.

"Whatever Hippie, we're missing out on the food," and with that Cartman started off toward the lunchroom with Stan trailing behind.

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><p>By the time Stan and Cartman reached their usual table Kyle was already opening a carefully wrapped sandwich. Kenny was absent, but seeing as Craig was absent from his own table it was fair to assume that the two had taken the opportunity to share a smoke, and possibly food, outside. Butters was sitting with Kyle today, probably after he had seen the other boy there alone. Normally Kyle wouldn't have minded this kind of action. Normally he would've been glad for the company, but not today.<p>

No, today he felt strangely irritated with Butters' presence as he nodded along inattentively to the blonde's nattering. Though maybe he wasn't really bothered by Butters' presence so much as he was bothered by another blonde's absence.

Kyle didn't want to admit it to himself, and sure as hell not to anyone else, but Kenny's nonappearance felt worse than his presence. Try as he might he couldn't stop thinking about the damn blonde he'd been trying to escape from for the past few weeks. It was a terrible, maddening irony.

He also couldn't stop remembering that Kenny was with Craig. Alone. In a secluded area. Really, it shouldn't bother him, right? They were friends, it was okay. And really, why would he give a crap anyway? It wasn't like he had a reason to care, right? Right?

Goddamn, Kyle hadn't believed that Kenny could do it, but apparently he'd found a way to harass Kyle without doing a damn thing. Or Kenny really was evil and this was a malicious form of self-doubting torture. In Kyle's opinion it was a toss-up.

Between Butters' endless chatter, Kenny's absence, and his unshakeable obsessive thoughts Kyle was running thin on patience. He was just about to snap at Butters when Stan and Cartman joined them. Cartman sat across from Butters, Stan took the open seat on Kyle's other side.

"Well hi there Stan, hi Eric," oh thank God, now maybe Butters would leave him alone.

"We didn't see you on the bus this morning Eric, where were you?"

"Not that it's any of your fucking business Butters, but if you must know," Cartman was obviously enjoying the attention, contradictory to his words, "I was looking at cars this morning. I convinced my mom to drive me over to a lot this morning and she is going to get me one."

Cartman dragged out the last sentence, coating every word with inherit smug superiority.

"Oh please fatass, your mom isn't going to get you a car."

Somehow, despite how often he was proved wrong, Kyle never really accepted just how indulgent Leanne Cartman was.

"Yes she is, Kahl," Cartman's retort was indignant, "She is so and I'll fucking show you. I'll have a new car here by next week!"

Kyle's retort would have been loud and scathing…had something not caught his eye.

"Whatever Cartman," he muttered. Cartman looked triumphant, but Kyle's attention was elsewhere.

The bright orange material of Kenny's parka was just about impossible to miss, especially on such a lanky seventeen year old boy. Kyle's seat put him in the perfect position to observe the two teenage boys as they entered the cafeteria together. He watched as the two boys said a quick word or two and parted, Craig off to his own clique's table and Kenny walking toward theirs.

Kyle's eyes followed Craig with mild contempt. He had never really cared much about Craig before, one way or the other, but he suddenly found the other boy fairly irritating. Craig noticed his gaze when he sat down. Kyle got the view of his middle finger for his troubles. He scowled heatedly back in return. Craig looked at him with apathy and possibly a microscopic modicum of indifferent amusement before looking away.

_Motherfucking, fucking Craig._

Kenny had already crossed the space from the door to their table; tangerine orange appeared out of the corner of Kyle's eye. The blonde pulled down his hood and stretched his long limbs out as he sat down, a wave of tobacco tainted air rolled across their table. Stan coughed a little and Cartman made a face of disgust, Butters was too polite.

It was weird. On any other person such a strong smell of smoke almost made Kyle want to puke, but somehow it didn't bother him coming from Kenny, it never had.

"Gawd Kinny, I knew you were poor, but you don't have to eat cigarettes," Cartman snickered.

"Aw, Kenny, you don't really eat cigarettes, do you?" Butters looked worried and uncertain.

"No, Butters, Cartman's just being a fat dumbfuck." He didn't bother pointing out that cigarettes were expensive anyway.

"Shut up, you stupid Jewfag. I'm not fucking fat!"

"Don't you belittle my people you sociopathic piece of shit!"

"And which people would those be Kaaahhll?" Cartman sneered with heavy emphasis on the "which".

Kyle stood. Cartman stood. Both boys stared down each other red-faced, with muscles tensed and teeth bared. A sudden taut silence hit, its effects rippling out from the epicenter of their table. There was a dangerous stillness, the kind witnessed by onlookers right before a car crash collision of glass and metal. Some of their classmates were pointing and whispering from their respective tables, waiting to see if Cartman and Kyle would actually come to blows today instead of the usual word battle. The two engaged in eye-deadlock were oblivious to all but each other, watching each other for the slightest hint of movement, waiting for any provocation as an excuse to jump across the table in a flurry of fists.

"Guys!"

The blood flow to Kyle's hand was being cut off; a tightness had encircled his arm. He looked down. Stan's hand was clenched around his arm, holding him back with minimal physical effort. At some point Stan must have stood up as well. Stan looked stiff and tense too, apparently ready to get between his two friends if need be.

"Come on guys, it isn't worth it. Just. Sit. Down." Stan's words came through clenched teeth as he tried to pull down his super best friend with him. He was furtively watching as a teacher made her way over to them.

Kyle looked at his best friend and sighed, reluctantly half-sitting, half-letting himself be pulled down to his seat. Cartman snorted, but sat back down as well. Crisis averted, the teacher gave them a warning look before returning to the other teachers on cafeteria duty; their curious classmates returned to eating and conversation. In typical teenage nonchalance the room was back to normal within thirty seconds.

Kyle had been looking down at his food since he had sat back down, but he couldn't shake an annoying feeling. He looked up, Butters was glancing between him and Cartman anxiously; the blonde boy looked away quickly. Kyle looked back down. The feeling still wouldn't go away. It was a visual touch. Someone was watching him, carefully, it would seem. He shrugged as if to shake off it off physically, but he could still feel eyes upon him.

_Goddammit Stan, just stop it._

Finally, and with great irritation, Kyle looked to his side. But Stan wasn't watching him, no, he was slowly chewing his food in contemplative silence. He looked up. Blue eyes stared right back at him.

Kenny was watching him studiously, the way Kyle would have looked at a frog upon a dissection tray. Had his posture been hunched he could've been mimicking Rodin's _The Thinker_. Kyle could see the gears turning behind the piercing collection of iris and pupil; he could detect the mental mechanisms moving, processing information and determining conclusions to be filed away for later use.

He briefly wondered if that's what he looked like when he was lost in thought. It was weird. And disturbing. And frustrating. He could see the process of thoughts forming in Kenny's head, but he couldn't figure out what they might be. Well, he might have had a better idea if he could hold Kenny's stare, but his gaze dropped away. He prayed to God that the sudden flush he felt wasn't coloring his face.

This wasn't the look Kenny had been giving him the past few weeks. Had it been that particular one, a cheeky lascivious eye-fuck, he might've been able to stare right back unflustered. Get mad even; hell, he might've even given Kenny a hard kick under the table, but, no, this was different. This time Kenny's eyes weren't peeling off his several layers of clothing, they were peeling off something much more dear to him. Well just as dear to him.

Kenny was mentally stripping away layers of powerful defense mechanisms, as if to leave him naked and vulnerable at his very core.

He felt a sudden surge of panic. He had to get away and he had to do it right then. A sudden irrational fear was flooding through him, something that seemed to be happening a lot since the very moment he'd learned about this whole "curse" business. He swore in his head at his father and all of the Broflovskis before him who had given in to supposed "McCormick charm".

_You bastards._

Without regard for how it might look Kyle stood abruptly, shoved his untouched food toward Kenny and walked out of the cafeteria into the hallway. He heard Stan ask where he was going, but he didn't acknowledge him. All he thought about as he strode out was how Kenny's eyes had flickered with surprise in their study. Even without seeing those eyes their image was at the forefront of his mind. Still dissecting him.

He marched through the quiet halls of the school in the direction of the gym. His next class would be held here with the rest of his grade, where he would be stuck with all of the people who had just witnessed both of his little scenes. Ah, the pitfalls of going to a small school. He grunted. Fuck, with his luck this tidbit of news would travel from the eleventh grade down to the lowest of the school's grades, seventh, of which his advanced placement brother was a member. Then he would have the immense joy of suffering alternating inquisitions from his pesky super best friend and his peskier younger brother. Fan-fucking-tastic. This really wasn't his day. Or week. Or month, come to think of it.

Maybe that Mole kid had been right, maybe God really was a cocksucking bitch. It would explain a lot.

By the time he had reached the locker rooms his stomach was grumbling harshly. He groaned a little in regret over his rash decision of food abandonment. Soon his diabetic little body wouldn't be too happy either.

Well, he thought, if he passed out at least he might miss gym class…assuming "Coach" wasn't in a particularly sadistic mood today.

At least he would get to change in private and avoid one of the more uncomfortable moments of the day. That was a plus. Too bad he couldn't say the same for avoiding Kenny and his troubling stares.

And the spine-shivering fear that those eyes would somehow uncover all the secrets Kyle wished to keep.

He sighed and pressed his forehead against the cool metal of his gym locker.

_Dammit Kenny, why are you doing this to me?_

* * *

><p>"Kyle, where are you going?"<p>

Stan's question went unanswered as the ginger left them. Stan heaved a sigh of exasperated concern; he pinched the bridge of his nose briefly and turned to orange-clad boy across from him.

"Dude, do you know what's up with him?"

Any evidence of surprise had been wiped clean from Kenny's face as he began the abandoned job of unwrapping Kyle's sandwich from its protective plastic force field.

_Dude, I so totally do._

"No man, no clue," he raised an eyebrow as if to say, "isn't this super best friend territory?"

Kenny was aware of the suspicion being cast from Stan's verbal and visual pause, but he ignored it in favor of his current task. Detangling cling-wrap from bread required surprisingly intense focus. It had been wrapped so anal-retentively Kenny couldn't tell if it was Kyle's work or his mom's.

"Yeah," Stan's reply came slowly. He was still giving Kenny an odd look, like he was trying to read between the mere four words he had been given.

"Who cares what's up that Jewfag's ass anyway? He probably forgot to take out his butt plug this morning."

"Aw, Eric, that's not nice to say. I'm sure Kyle's just working something out is all," Butters was frowning softly at Cartman.

"So why don't you just keep your mouth shut, you fat fucking piece of shit."

"You too poor boy? Jesus Christ you guys, is everyone here gay for that fucking daywalker? I didn't know all you had to do was be an emo little pussy for people to kiss your fucking ass."

"Cartman shut your fucking mouth or shove some food into it…and hurry up, we're gonna be late for gym," Stan was already getting impatient, irritated by the constant conflict. It was like Kyle's bad mood had washed over their whole table.

Cartman muttered something like, "Whatever gaywads," but ate his food in relative silence. He had become a lot less willing to go up against Stan since he had joined his raven-haired friend on the football team. Whether it was out of a sense of camaraderie or because Cartman didn't want his ass kicked by the smaller but better player was uncertain. It was kinda hard to tell when it came to Cartman.

Kenny was done inhaling Kyle's food in short time and, true to Stan's prediction, the bell soon rang to signal the end of lunch. Stan cursed and Butters looked anxious, they only had a few short minutes to make it to the locker room and change for gym class before they got reamed by Coach Mackenzie: football coach, boys' gym teacher, and a known hard-ass.

Kenny, frankly, couldn't give two shits about being cursed out by some middle-aged frustrated gym teacher, but Stan would also have to face the guy's wrath after school and Butters was a natural people pleaser. And while Butters would only blame himself, if Stan spent the next week getting screamed at so loud Coach's beer belly shook it meant Stan would be pissy with him for the next week. So for their, and his, sakes he made an effort to get to gym with them on time.

Though why Stan never just went ahead without them was a mystery.

Cartman, on the other hand, never worried about being yelled at. He never got in trouble. Instead he tended to wander in a few minutes late. He said it was because he was so good he could get himself out of anything. In Kenny's opinion it was because Leanne Cartman was spreading her legs for Coach in his office three nights a week.

The next few minutes were filled with a flurry of action as the four boys joined several other delinquent members of their class. They herded themselves down the hall and into the locker room, where clothing was ripped off and replaced in record time. It was actually quite impressive to watch, Kenny thought, his friends were almost as fast at tearing off their clothes as he was at the thought of getting laid.

Kenny observed rather than participated, his jeans and parka were good enough. Besides, despite his best efforts, his clothes were so old and well used that they had accumulated several stains. At this point it seemed redundant to designate a particular set of clothes to dirty.

By the time they got to the gym Kyle was already there, leaning against the bleachers in track pants and an old tee that read "Dreidel Champion", arms crossed. They had gotten there just in time. No sooner had all of the boys made it into the gym than their teacher was striding across the room from the hall toward the exit outside.

"Outside boys, to the football field. Donovan, grab the pinneys. No gym clothes again McCormick?" It was barked out roughly.

He shrugged.

Clyde could be heard whining as he grabbed the bag of brightly colored polyester. Token could be heard calling him a pussy.

There was the usual chatter and banter as the boys made their way outside. They bitched to one another about having to go outside, quietly so as not to get bitched at. The air was chilly and they shivered in their gym clothes as they walked to the field. The mist from that morning had cleared, but had left the sky overcast and the grass of the field slick with a fine coat of water.

Somewhere behind the crowd Clyde and Token were bringing up the rear…rather noisily.

"Why do I have to carry them?" Clyde's voice was grating.

"Because he told you to. They're not even heavy dude; fuck Clyde, how do you even play sports?" Token's voice sounded like a head shake.

When they had all finally converged onto the field they huddled together and waited, mostly with disinterest, for instructions. Coach Mackenzie finally stood in front of them as Clyde dropped the bag of pinneys onto the wet grass, he was gripping a football with both hands.

"Alright boys, today we're going to be playing the best, manliest sport out there: football."

There was groaning from much of the class.

"Shut up. Now, get into teams. Last name, A through L green pinneys, M through Z white pinneys."

The boys started to move, begrudgingly, toward the bag of now wet pinneys. Once they had all grabbed one and pulled it over their shirts there was some more rifling through the bag, then a pause.

"Uh, Coach, the flag belts aren't in here."

"That's right Token. We're not going to be playing any of that sissy, candy-assed flag football. You boys need to toughen up. Let's go, hustle!"

No one moved.

"Um, Coach, isn't that going to be kinda dangerous? I mean, shouldn't we be using gear or something?" This time it was Stan who was brave enough to challenge their sadistic instructor. There was a general murmur of consent as everyone looked at the slick grass of the field.

"If any one of you candy-asses has a problem with it, get your mess up to Mrs. Jameson's with the rest of the girls. And you might as well get in the right class and transfer into hers. Now, move!"

Reluctantly they all stood and began to form into their respective teams.

Kenny didn't have to look around him to know their team would win. He had three of the school's best football players on his team: Stan, Token, and Craig. Kenny might not have been especially good at football, but he was good enough to be an asset to their team and help make up for their three biggest detriments: Jimmy, Butters, and Tweek.

Kenny watched as the uhsanka covered boy across the way appeared to be sizing up his own team. He almost felt bad for the guy…almost.

Kyle had good reason for the anxious look on his face. The green team had virtually no edge to keep their asses from getting kicked. Kyle and Clyde were both basketball players. Kyle was slightly shorter than most of their classmates and his wiry, lean frame was no match against the bulk and broad shoulders of the football players. Clyde, on the other hand, was just frequently a bitch about this shit. The formerly homeschooled Mark Cotswold was still as bookish as ever and Kenny doubted Timmy would be much help either.

The fact that Timmy and Jimmy were playing a game that was already retardedly dangerous enough for the rest of them only confirmed Kenny's suspicion that all of the adults in this town were beyond stupid-as-shit motherfuckers.

Kenny glanced over the opposing team again. Even the two "secret weapons" of the football team wouldn't be able to help them. Cartman was only useful, mostly in his own opinion, because he mowed people down…for kicks; but he wouldn't so dumb as to use his cheap shots on his own teammates, who would undoubtedly kick his ass later if he tried. Thomas, a kid from who had been from another elementary school, was an okay player, but mostly he was known for startling the opposing team when he suddenly shouted out things like "cock!" Tourette's was a surprisingly effective, if accidental, strategy. But their team knew Thomas and experienced his tics daily, there was no element of surprise to be had now.

Really for Kyle it seemed to not be a matter of winning, but of staying alive. As a friend Kenny sympathized. As a lustful persecutor he found a small amount of glee in this. As someone who was becoming obsessed with unraveling the secrets in those green eyes and pissed at their obstinacy he really didn't give a flying fuck.

Parka hood up, he turned and joined his other teammates in a huddle. Since Stan and Token were co-captains on the football team they had decidedly taken the leadership positions. Positions, Kenny rolled his eyes, they appeared to be taking quite seriously.

"Okay then, so we'll try to keep the ball away from Tweek, Butters, and Jimmy. Is that alright with you guys?" Stan looked over at the three boys in question.

"F-f-fine with m-me."

"Sure, thanks Stan."

"Gah! But, what if the ball does come to me? What do I do then! Nngh, too much pressure!"

"Tweek, if you get the ball, just throw it to us," Kenny and Craig were friends, but he never knew how that nasal monotone actually calmed anyone down, even as he watched the twitching Tweek do just that. Minutely, at least.

"Okay and we went over the plays we'll try to do. Everyone got it?" Token looked around the circle.

"Kenny, you know what to do?" Stan asked him.

"Run like hell if I get the ball?" his reply came back sardonically. Stan frowned in a pout, but nodded.

"And remember; let's try to not kill anyone. Alright, break!"

Their team lined up near professionally. Well, three of them did anyway. Kenny just moseyed over to a spot and stood disinterestedly. Jimmy followed suit slowly, trying to keep his braces upright in the wet grass. Butters and Tweek looked uncomfortable and ill-placed on the field, awkwardly postured and too close together.

Across the way an even less cohesive team was being formed. Cartman had decided to lead, which really meant he was shouting at people to not "fuck it up". Kyle was a little red-faced as he yelled something unintelligible back at Cartman; they looked just about ready to break into a fist fight again.

"Break it up! Save that for the game!" The coach had come over and placed one hand on each of their shoulders, pulling them apart a little. The two parted with one last heated glare at each other.

"Okay, just remember. Keep the ball away from Timmy. And only pass to the Jewfag if you have to." Cartman gave a final shout as their team formed a semi-line.

"Timmy!"

"Cartman!"

Both of the mentioned boys looked ready to kill their bulky "leader".

"Cartman, watch the language! I'm not getting another call from the fucking ACLU again!"

"Sorry Coach," Cartman's voice was so innocently sweet it was beyond cloying.

"Line up. Alright, ball goes to green team since they clearly have the disadvantage," Man this guys was a fucking dickhead, "Go!"

And with that, they were off. It wasn't long before both teams suffered their first casualty.

To the dismay of their teacher, however, it wasn't due to their murdering each other so much as it was to the slick terrain underneath them. Apparently though, despite the utter sadistic tendencies and questionable brain function, Coach Mackenzie still had enough sense to be afraid of lawsuits. Thus began the loss of many players.

The first few, who fell on the grass hard, and after complaining of immense pain, were allowed to sit out the game on the bleachers. This, however, led to lots of players "accidentally" falling and over dramatic woebegone cries of agony. It had consisted mostly of kids who had not been in their elementary school with them, much to Kenny's simultaneous pride and irritation.

_Bunch of pussies, they should've gone to South Park Elementary. This is shit compared to we had to deal with._

Soon though, Timmy's wheels sputtered, Jimmy's braces slipped, Tweek nearly had a nervous breakdown and were all eliminated from the game. Then Mark Cotswold left with scraped knees after Stan skidded into him. Then Butters limped off the field after Cartman had shoved him to the ground hard; soon after Cartman had the pleasure of eating turf via Craig. Unfortunately for the white team, Craig's overzealous revenge had caused him to fall also, with Cartman nearly landing on him and Craig almost twisting his ankle. Despite his monotone insistence the coach yanked his player off the field for the sake of the football season.

And so now it was down to the last ranks. On Kenny's side stood he, Stan, and Token. On Kyle's side stood him, Cartman, and Thomas. All six of them were panting from playing and the added exertion of trying to stay vertical. Grass stains and dirt colored all of their clothing in streaks.

All throughout the game Kenny's eye had been flickering to Kyle, making sure he knew where the redhead was at all times, offensively guarding him whenever possible. Kyle had seemed keen on spending an equal amount of effort staying away from Kenny though. But it was something that had become increasingly harder as fewer and fewer players littered the field.

And then a wonderful, wonderful thing happened for Kenny McCormick: Kyle Broflovski had the ball. Kenny saw his opening. Kyle had been making it his habit to hand off the ball almost as soon as he got it, but now Kyle's options were seriously limited and Kenny was in hot pursuit. Kyle was looking around as he ran toward their goal, eyes wildly searching for a way to throw the ball to Cartman or Thomas; he didn't even notice the longer-limbed blonde closing the gap between them.

Kenny saw his opening. And pounced.

He launched himself into Kyle and caught the bewildered look in his green eyes as they found themselves filled with a vision of sky. A second later though Kyle was under Kenny, looking up at him breathlessly.

Kenny would've liked it to have been because Kyle had just become wild with mad desire after being pinned down by him, but it was probably something else. Like the fact that Kyle had just had his lungs slammed forcefully into the hard earth or something like that. Probably.

"Hey Kyle," he said cheerfully to the wheezing ginger under him. He let his weight sink into the other boy, relishing the feeling of their hips pressed together and legs intertwined.

Said boy below him was sputtering as he tried to collect enough air to breathe; and most likely to prepare himself for the beating he no doubt wanted to dole out on Kenny's Cheshire cat face, exposed from their collision. Kenny let himself rest there for a few more seconds, long enough for Kyle to know exactly what he was doing and just short enough for his classmates to think he was either recovering or rubbing it in Kyle's face…okay, so maybe he was doing the latter anyway.

_You can't avoid me Kyle, not anymore._

After what seemed like far too little time, and for Kyle he imagined far too much, he pushed himself off the Jew below him and stood. He brushed himself off. The grass stains covering his pants were totally worth this. Stan was jogging over, obviously having witnessed the whole incident. The black-haired boy extended a hand to his still prostrate friend and hoisted him up.

"Dude, are you okay?"

There was dirt in his hat and the escapee tendrils of dangling hair. Kyle looked super pissed, but other than that he seemed just fine to Kenny. It was good enough for him. In a weird way he felt like a mission had just been accomplished. Kyle must've felt a little differently, he was glaring at Kenny with death-ray vision.

"Yeah, I'm fine," but his eyes never left Kenny.

Stan looked back and forth between the two of them. The game paused.

It wasn't for long though because then there came the shrill shriek of a whistle.

"Gym's over, get back to the locker rooms and change." No one was upset by this order.

Kyle marched off ahead of them. Save for the dirt and grass covering his backside and the tiniest of limps this wasn't an irregular sight. Kyle had a habit of trying to speed un- and redress before his peers could see him. Hmmm, maybe Kenny should start getting to gym earlier.

Stan watched Kyle storm off and turned to Kenny with a deep frown.

"I thought we said we weren't going to tackle people Kenny."

"I slipped," he wished his hood was still up; keeping the smirk off his face was getting hard. He tried to sound innocent and nonchalant.

Stan knew him better than that. He gave Kenny a dissatisfied "uh-huh" and a hard stare. Without another word he turned and jogged to catch up with Kyle. The next boy who stood next to him had more to say.

"Jesus, Craig is such an asshole. I swear to God I am gonna kick his ass at the next fucking practice," Cartman's round face was practically steaming.

But Kenny wasn't listening.

Despite his jovial and carefree attitude the insides of Kenny's brain were whirling around tidbits of information, sewing them together into conjecture. Kyle was holding back. Kyle had been pissed; he had still fought against Cartman on his behalf. He had thrown Kyle to the ground, Kyle hadn't pushed him off. And despite any comeback the oh-so-annoyingly rational Kyle might have, the simple fact was that he was being entirely too soft on Kenny for all his supposed opposition. Even if Kyle wouldn't admit it they both knew that Kyle could've put an end to this before now.

Okay, so actually putting an end to Kenny's advances was a stretch, but still, Kyle could've tried harder. He knew he didn't have to fight Kenny's battles for him against Cartman and even with the wind knocked out of him he could've recovered and shoved Kenny off long before Kenny actually removed himself.

Hell, despite the physical disparity Kenny was pretty sure that a rage-fueled Kyle could give him a solid pummeling if he was really intent on it. But so far, that hadn't happened. And whether Kyle would've agreed or not, Kenny had already made a decision for both of them. Kyle wanted this. All the ginger needed was a little more…"convincing".

He had a gut instinct. He had proof. He had determination. Oh yeah, and most importantly, he didn't really give a shit; he had a goal, and dammit, he was going to achieve it. As he walked back, alongside the constant bickering and bitching of Cartman playing like deranged white noise, these were his happy thoughts.

* * *

><p>Kyle had been patient. Extremely patient for him, actually. He had kept quiet in French as he sat beside Kenny. He had bit his tongue when they waited with Stan at his locker. Even on the bus with just the two of them and Butters in the back seats he had kept his mouth shut.<p>

By the time they got off he looked like he had a porcupine stuffed hemorrhoid. He swore he could taste blood in his mouth from where he had been chewing on his cheek.

Stan and Cartman were at football practice, Butters had gotten off at his stop, and his little brother was hanging out with his friend Georgie today, it was just him and Kenny now, standing in the cool fall air. Finally he had his chance. Kyle waited until the bus spewed the last of its toxic fumes and disappeared from view.

Then he whipped back his fist and punched Kenny in the arm. Hard.

"Ow! Kyle, what the fuck?" The reply came out as an angry muffle against Kenny's parka. His hand had gone to his dead arm.

"'What the fuck?' What do you mean 'what the fuck'? What the fuck is what I should be saying!" Kyle was so angry he was panting by the end, fists clenched and shoulders tensed all the way to his ears.

Then Kenny did something Kyle did not expect. He saw his friend's blue eyes change from a frown of anger to a devilish crinkle at the edges. A shock of blond hair became visible as his orange-clad friend pulled back the hood of his parka to reveal a sly grin. The gloved hand that Kenny had been clutching his dead arm with dropped away. He straightened. Kyle was starting to get that same uneasy feeling he'd gotten at lunch, like Kenny was onto something already.

"Oh, is this about that little tackle?" the old Cheshire cat grin was on his face again.

Kyle's face was growing redder and redder, because of anger or embarrassment or something unmentionable even he didn't know. "Don't even try to say it was an accident Kenny!"

"…You're right, it wasn't."

For a minute Kyle was left sputtering. He had been expecting Kenny to roll his eyes or tell Kyle it was all in his head or something, not this open admission.

"Why?" he felt just about ready to start pulling red ringlets from his own head.

"Come on Kyle, you know why; dontcha?" Kyle must've turned near purple at Kenny's strangely knowing reply.

"Dude, I don't care about the fucking "curse" or whatever, okay! Our dads are retarded, our parents are retarded, all of fucking South Park is retarded! I am not doing this, not now, not ever! I have no fucking interest in this whatso-fucking-ever! Just. Leave. Me. Alone. Okay?"

Kyle's breath was coming out in heaving lungfuls again, he felt riled up beyond all belief. He knew he looked riled up beyond all belief too, he felt like one tightly coiled muscle. His harsh breath was the only noise for a moment as Kenny seemed to consider the raging Jew's heated rant. Then he seemed to reach a conclusion that must've been in his mind from the get go, almost as if in anticipation of this very moment.

"No."

It was stated simply, calmly; there was no hint of taunting or teasing, but it couldn't have pissed off Kyle more. Now his fingers actually did reach under his hat to pull down painfully on his curled hair. "Why not Kenny?"

He sounded defeated and frustrated, far less angry than he had intended. He cursed himself. Kyle tried to study Kenny's face, but only saw a resolute smirk lodged in place against those devil-blue eyes.

"'Cause, you're lying," Kenny stated it so matter-of-factly that Kyle once again found himself at a loss for words. It was becoming just one more disturbing trend Kenny seemed to be inducing as of late.

Kenny must have decided that was the end of the conversation because, with that said, he flipped up his hood, pulled the strings tight, and headed off toward his own house, waving a hand goodbye over his shoulder. "See ya later Kyle!"

All Kyle could do was sputter and make Tweek Tweak-esque noises as he watched Kenny saunter off home, strutting like a self-aware stud.

And damn him if he didn't notice how good his blonde friend looked right then.

* * *

><p><strong>Please, please leave me some lovin', or some hatin', reviews!<strong>

**For those of you who might not know, a "pinney" is a bright colored polyester vest/shirt (at least in my experience) that you wear over your regular shirt in order to distinguish teams. Oh yeah, and they tend to reek...bad.**

**AN: I hope you enjoyed! I've already started on the next chap and have another story idea in the works, K2 again, since that's the way my brain seems to be wired as of late.**


	3. If Only We All Had Telepathy

**AN: Okay, sorry once again for the length of time between updates! I hope some of you are still reading and excited or happy or anything positive to see this update. There are 3 reasons/excuses for the delay:**

**1) I was being lazy...yeah**

**2) Work's been crazy and annoying and long**

**3) And the best reason of all, this chapter was actually going to be much longer, but when I realized it was probably going to end up being ~25 pgs I felt like that might turn some ppl off (I like long chapters but idk about all you out there in cyber land) so I chopped it up. The good news is that the next chap should thus be out in a few days!**

**Thank you so much to everyone who's been reviewing, adding this story as a fav or on alert, etc. Nothing makes my day like seeing an add on my stories or a review, esp a review! Thank you so much, you guys are awesome! And I still would appreciate any more reviews...esp if I'm getting sucky or something, but also if you're digging the story too (those are more fun to read). **

**Any-whoseits, I don't own SP or its characters. Onto the chapter!**

* * *

><p><em>"You!<br>I wanna take you to a gay bar,  
>I wanna take you to a gay bar,<br>I wanna take you to a gay bar, gay bar, gay bar"- "Gay Bar" Electric Six_

That night was spent like many of Kyle's. He ate dinner with his family. Then he retreated to his room to complete his homework in a timely and orderly fashion. After that he bullshitted around on the internet and chatted to Stan online intermittently as the football player juggled simultaneous conversations between Kyle and his girlfriend, who managed to take up a lot of Stan's time for his insistence that they were "just casual". Like clockwork, at half past ten his mother came up and told him it was time to shut off his computer and go to bed, so he did and bade his mother his usual "Night, Ma," and put up with her hug and kiss to his forehead. Then he brushed his teeth, changed into pajamas, set his alarm, slipped under the covers, and turned off his bedside light. And then it was dark and still in his room, the only noises being the occasional murmur of his parents talking downstairs or the sounds of the house groaning and settling. Kyle waited for sleep.

But one half hour came and went. He heard his parents ascend the stairs quietly; the hallway light flicked off with the sound of the switch and his parents' bedroom door squeaked open and shut. Now the entire house was still and dark. In theory it should've felt peaceful, but, of course, theory and real life are two very different things.

In stark contrast to the lullaby of stillness and darkness Kyle felt wide awake and aware. It was a disturbing feeling, this paradox. It didn't help that he could practically feel his pupils ever widening in a feeble attempt to absorb any light in the darkness.

His thoughts were also far from sleep inducing.

His mind wasn't whirling tonight. There was nothing to whirl about. There were no conclusions to be drawn, no conjectures to be made, no solutions to be derived, no problems to ponder, or questions to ask himself. No, the facts of the situation were concrete and stupidly simple and nonsensical.

No matter what he tried Kenny still pursued him. It was as easy as that. Every action, reaction, or nonaction Kyle had put into practice had only been met by an equally strong-willed blue eyed blonde. He was starting to feel like he was in _Groundhog Day_; no matter what he did nothing ever changed the outcome, it all just kept repeating itself. Today he had even gone so far as to demand, no, practically beg Kenny to stop, but still nothing. Kenny seemed absolutely intent on continuing their little "family tradition". And for the life of him, Kyle really couldn't figure out why.

He had stared in the mirror and tried to figure it out; no help there. He didn't find himself particularly attractive; his Jewfro, his downright skinny appearance, his frame small in both height and width, the freckles that speckled his skin in summer, the Christian Christmas coloring of his hair and eyes, no, he couldn't see it there. Frankly, he found himself particularly unattractive, and had thus determined that if anything his physical appearance should be a deterrent.

His mind and personality didn't seem to be a factor; Kenny was coming onto and groping him, not courting him with serenades and sweet words.

So what was Kenny's motivation? Had his friend been a crueler person Kyle might've suspected that it really was just to make his life a living hell, but that wasn't it. Sure, they ragged on each other and shoved each other around and pulled pranks and shit like that, but it was all in good nature, they were guys. Had it been Cartman, as disgusting and vomit inducing as that thought was, Kyle would've expected malicious intent immediately. But no, Kyle knew that Kenny, although quite possibly evil, was not a bad person. How the contradiction worked in his mind he didn't bother to question.

Of course, it probably didn't help that Kenny couldn't possibly be aware of just how badly this might be affecting Kyle.

Kyle had known he was gay for over four years now. Which, incidentally, had been his first and only experience with another boy. Four years of pent up feelings and hormones pushed far under the rug of his being had already put his sanity on thin ice. This wasn't helping.

Four years of suppressing his thoughts and feelings, indeed a part of what made him a whole person, was tiring; and Kenny was pulling on the strings of a fabric he didn't know were already frayed. Only one person in the entire world knew he was gay and that person was none other than his super best friend ever Stan Marsh. Though how his friend came to be in possession of that knowledge was too embarrassing to relive.

It wasn't that Kyle was particularly ashamed of himself, not for his sexual orientation anyway. It was just that being gay was…well…difficult. It wasn't even like he was afraid for his safety, South Park was accepting of gays…sort of. And really, in the "sort of" laid the problem. South Park was indeed accepting, but mostly in a stupid, ignorant, loving redneck kind of way. Most residents expected gays, and Jews and gingers and Muslims and Mexicans etc. etc., to act like the stereotypes that ended up defining them.

They accepted you, they loved you even, but they wanted you to fit a really gay-ass, no pun intended, mold. It didn't help that the three gay adults he knew here were practically the definition of stereotypical homos. Big Gay Al was just that, so flamboyant and queeny-queer it was impossible to ignore, Mr. Garrison was another typical redneck, self-hating homo, and Mr. Slave…well he didn't really want to go there.

Kyle wasn't any of those things though. He was just himself. He stayed outdoors, loved basketball, played videogames, laughed at fart jokes and videos of people getting hurt, had no interest in fashion or trendsetting, chopped firewood, was an "A" student, hung out with his friends, and sat inside his own skin. He wasn't a queen, bear, twink, butch, drag queen, or any of those other things. He was just a dude who liked dudes. And he was okay with that. As long as he didn't have to deal with stupid questions from his friends and peers. Or endless "jokes" from Cartman. Or his mother.

He gagged at that last one every time he thought about it. Partially he was afraid she would come to hate him or be ashamed of him; partially he was terrified that the day he came out to his mom there would be a rainbow flag flying outside their house and Barbara Streisand and Cher CDs in his bedroom and that he'd be signed up with her for PFLAG meetings for the rest of his life. There was such a thing as too "accepting".

But really the long and short of it was that Kenny didn't know this, couldn't know this. And, friend or not, an attractive male hitting on him twenty-four seven was driving his hormones and will power to their breaking point, as well as his sanity. His hormones were frustrated because they desperately wanted to give into the prospect of real action and away from the handful of half-hearted make out sessions with girls over the years; his sanity was breaking because he knew that despite hormonal temptation the pain, humiliation, and unwanted exposure of his sexual tendencies was far too risky and likely…and then he might just become a self-hating queer. His will power was tearing apart at the seams on both ends and there was no relief in site.

What he really wanted…he…he wasn't quite sure…but he didn't see himself getting it…not from Kenny McCormick.

This "curse" was beyond evil, if only because it had incited Kenny to such persistent actions. It was making Kyle think thoughts he didn't want to think and dream dreams that left him alternately aroused and horrified. A wet dream one night that terrified him to remember and a nightmare the next about having said wet dream somehow viewed by the entire school.

_Hmmm…horror after a dream or horror during a dream…choices, choices._

Kyle was feeling just a little frustrated. He was just a little frustrated in a pull out your hair to baldness, grind your teeth to the gum line, scream at the top of your lungs, break every glass in the house, lose every minutia of sanity kind of way; so yeah, just a little frustrated.

He was beginning to wonder if this was how Tweek felt all the time. He was used to being ill-tempered, aggravated, argumentative, and somewhat awkward, but not to the levels he'd been experiencing lately.

Maybe, he thought, he should ask the twitchy, rumpled blonde how he'd survived all these years without being shipped off to a mental facility; maybe that would work.

But then two very unpleasant associations filled his brain. One was that the idea of a messy-haired blonde, any messy-haired blonde apparently, brought his mind back to Kenny and the blue eyes that had tried to penetrate his soul. The other was Craig Tucker, who Kyle remembered was usually in charge of keeping Tweek from freaking out, well more than usual at any rate.

There was just something about the way he comforted him, the way he actually could comfort him when no one else could that was just so…no, stop right there. He was going to vomit if he followed that train of thought any further. Besides, the chances of that happening in a school as small as theirs was beyond unlikely. It wasn't like this was some weird universe that defied the laws of gay statistics.

Ah, yes, the comfort of numbers and cold hard facts. Kyle relaxed a little into the mattress. This was nice, he felt a little calmer now.

Then again, this was South Park. Suddenly Kyle felt cold…and nauseous.

He sighed. His little mental tangent was either the product of insomnia or an attempt to avoid thoughts of his actual problem. It was probably the latter.

This wasn't like him.

Usually he fixated on problems until they were resolved, frequently to the point of annoyance for everyone around him. In the past, however, he'd also been able to discuss such problems with Stan ad nauseum and if the problem was with Stan he'd been able to talk to Kenny or Butters, or anyone other than Cartman really. But this…this was a very different situation. It wasn't like he could go up to anyone and say, "Hey, hypothetically speaking, if you were gay and one of your closest male friends who you've known for most of your life was hitting on you and generally being an asshole, but still causing you to realize that you not only reciprocate the lust, but also possibly have some suppressed romantic feelings for said asshole what would you do?" Oh yeah, that sounded real fucking hypothetical. Yeah, no one would suspect a thing if he just blurted that out, uh-huh, sure.

Why, oh why, did life have to suck so hard?

_Oh God, why did I think that? _

Panic began to crawl all over his insides.

_Don't think like Kenny, don't think like Kenny, don't think like Kenny…_

Too late.

Kyle shouldn't have closed his eyes in thought. Despite his urgent inner-protests the mental image was flooding his brain.

Kenny was there.

_No._

There was a gleam in his eyes.

_No._

Kenny pulled his hood down, smug smirk in place like a well worn suit.

_Stop it._

Kenny opened his mouth.

_No, just stop it right there._

"Hey Kyle…"

_Stop, no, just fucking stop brain!_

"I've got something hard you can suck."

"Goddammit!"

He exclaimed the last part a little more loudly than need be. For a moment he waited stiffly, preparing himself for his mother's concerned visage to storm into his room. There was silence. After a minute or two he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and relaxed.

Well, most of his relaxed; unfortunately for him one part of his anatomy had remained obstinately stiff. He groaned.

"Just go away."

Talking to one's dick, however, has rarely produced useful results for any man since the dawn of self-restraint. Kyle's attempt was no exception. He tried to will it away mentally, he tried to think of the most disturbing images he could imagine: his parents having sex, Leanne Cartman fucking every dude in South Park, Cartman naked, Cartman becoming president, Cartman in general…but every time he tried to induce such an image he couldn't force it into being.

The idea of Kenny was too appealing to push away with such disgusting thoughts. His mind may have hated Kenny's actions and wanted to strangle the blonde, but his body seemed to feel differently about the situation. During the day his genuine anger and mental frustration made it easy to control his body, but at night, in the darkness and solitary space of his room his body and its physical frustration won out. Dick, one; Mind, zero.

Kyle rolled onto his stomach. His erection was throbbing against the mattress, but he ignored it. He breathed into the pillow. Maybe if it wouldn't go away he could just suffocate himself.

Yeah, asphyxiation sounded pretty good right now.

* * *

><p>The next day found a very irritable Kyle, more so than usual anyway.<p>

When Stan arrived at the bus stop the youngest members of the Broflovski clan were already there; the smaller of the two males was looking up sideways at the other with wide brown eyes, Stan was nearly certain that Ike's constant look of curiosity was more intense today. It was kind of hard to tell through his half-lidded eyes.

He seemed to be walking in on the middle of a sibling "moment". If Stan hadn't known Kyle he might've been worried for Ike's physical safety.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Ike's question came out more as needling prying than genuine concern.

"Yes, now shut up Ike," Kyle hissed through clenched teeth.

Stan was only two feet away from his ginger-haired friend now and could see his lips had vanished into what appeared to be a very thin white line encircling his mouth. Really, it was amazing that Kyle had managed to get out any words at all; he appeared to be literally twitching with barely contained anger.

"Hey," Stan shifted the backpack looped over one shoulder. His usual morning half-awake state had been evaporated by the agitated energy his friend was exuding. Sometimes their closeness had its drawbacks; had they both been girls they'd probably have been on the same damn cycle.

He looked his friend up and down and took in his disheveled appearance. His hair was wildly sprouting in all directions, papers were uncharacteristically sticking out of his back haphazardly, one shoe was soaked in mud, "sup?"

Kyle turned to Stan quickly, full of the passionate energy that defined him. When he wheeled on Stan though it was apparent that the energy in Kyle's motions was in spite of his physical state; deep, dark bags swallowed up his vibrant green eyes.

"Today already fucking sucks, that's what's up," Kyle hissed out his answer again, but Stan knew that the venom in Kyle's voice was not directed at him. No, Kyle's rage seemed to be directed more in the general vicinity of the entire universe at the moment. Stan sensed a rant coming on.

"I couldn't sleep until three forty-five a.m. Then when I woke up at five I realized I somehow forgot to do my physics homework, which I only managed to get half-done before my mom was screaming her head off at me to get going, there was no hot water so I had to take a fucking freezing shower, and now I can't find my fucking hat anywhere! And I know exactly where I fucking left it! Oh yeah and then on my way here I stepped in a big-ass puddle of mud and my annoying-as-shit little brother won't stop asking me if…I'm… o…fucking…kay!" The last few words were ground out in said brother's direction, whose expression didn't change.

Stan looked over at Ike. Yeah, he could see how that could get annoying; Ike was staring at Kyle almost unblinkingly, eyes brimming with an intense curiosity that was half mad scientist and half tag-a-long younger sibling. He looked back at Kyle's sleep-deprived face.

"That sucks majorly dude," he replied evenly; he knew it was best just to let Kyle get this out of his system. The sooner Kyle ranted and vented the sooner he turned back into a pleasant super best friend instead of the Raging Jew of South Park, which was a being kinda like Godzilla…or maybe Mothra…or that _Cloverfield_ monster thing.

Whoops, Kyle was looking at him for an answer now; apparently he'd started ranting again and Stan hadn't been paying attention. It wasn't really necessary, the listening, this was mostly just letting Kyle blow off steam. Most of the time Kyle didn't even look for a response from Stan…but that didn't mean he didn't get pissed when Stan couldn't provide one.

"Mmhmm," he nodded and hoped that was the right response. Agreeing generally worked, couldn't hurt, right?

It must've been a half-right response, because Kyle was watching him with mild irritation as if waiting for something more.

"Uh, yeah," while Stan stalled for time he was saved by the sudden appearance of Kenny.

"Hey Kenny."

At the sound of his name Kyle quickly turned away from Stan, but not before he saw a blush color his cheeks.

"Hey Kenny," Kyle's greeting was hesitant, nearly choked out; he was staring ahead as though Kenny were a rabid dog that might attack if eye contact were made.

Had this been any other time Stan would've been suspicious of Kyle's obvious discomfort, but his blonde and redhead friends had been acting so weird anyway lately that this had become nearly normal behavior. If only Stan could figure out just what the hell was going on. He had actually tried picking Wendy's brain on the issue, but the conversation had been rather unproductive.

In fact it had gone a little something like this.

"Kyle and Kenny have been acting weird lately," he announced it rather dramatically.

"Yes Stan," Wendy sighed, "please tell me you didn't just notice this now."

"No," he replied quickly, embarrassed over his girlfriend's assumption. Okay, he may have been a little obtuse about these things some times, but he wasn't a complete idiot. "I just didn't know if you had."

"I think most of the school has noticed by now Stan," Wendy explained exasperatedly, "Even I heard about how Kenny went after Kyle in gym. Plus I do have AP English, AP Chemistry, AP Calculus, AP Modern European History, and Honors French class with Kyle; subtlety is not Kyle's strong suit Stan, we've all heard him muttering under his breath…and for once it wasn't about Cartman."

"Oh…yeah," Stan tried not to appear too dumbfounded, lest he get lectured again on how he ought to pay more attention to the world around him, which seemed to be a continual subject of discussion for Wendy. "It's been going on for, like, a month now," he got out before she could comment, genuinely perplexed.

"Really?" Wendy rustled through some papers on her desk, "What's going on anyway?"

She turned in her chair to finally look at him with rapt interest. Sometimes Stan forgot that for all of Wendy's intelligence and maturity she loved this girly gossip crap.

"I don't know," he shrugged, "I was hoping maybe you could help?"

His pleading look was lost on her; she sighed instead and rubbed her temples, much like he pinched the bridge of his nose when aggravated. "Stan, your two best friends have been fighting for a month and you don't know what's going on?" She questioned him with disbelief. "Why don't boys ever talk about anything!"

_Because it's pretty fucking gay, that's why._

Stan wisely chose to keep his thoughts to himself, though.

Wendy actually seemed to be thinking the problem over. Stan watched eagerly as she did so, waiting for what he was sure would be the right answer from his studious and brilliant girlfriend.

"Well," she said after a moment, tapping her finger against her chin, "you should ask Kyle if you really want to know."

Really? That was it? Well that wasn't too helpful. He felt pretty disappointed actually.

"I already asked him, like weeks ago. He just said there wasn't anything going on."

_Don't you think I already asked him that Wendy? He's my super best friend for Christ's sake._

Once again Stan filtered his thoughts as he processed his words and wisely so.

"Then ask Kenny."

_Yeah, cause I haven't done that. Jesus tap-dancing Christ, does she think I'm that bad at this shit?_

"I did that too," he tried to bite back his frustration, fighting with Wendy wouldn't help, "Listen, I was thinking, maybe you could talk to Kyle?"

Wendy shook her head immediately. "No Stan. I am not getting in the middle of this. If don't want to talk about it then they don't. Just stay out of it Stan, maybe they'll tell you when they want to; you know Kyle will talk to you when he's ready."

Stan sighed in defeat. Even though he was a little irritated and frustrated that she wouldn't help she did have a point. Kyle talked to him about almost everything and would tell him when he was ready to, he knew that; he also knew that sometimes Kyle exploded over the small stuff and held back on big stuff until it went from pressure cooker to nuclear meltdown. Kyle was a person of extremes, not balances.

"Yeah, okay," he said finally.

"Okay then, problem solved," Wendy smiled satisfactorily as she stood. She made her way over to where Stan sat on her floor, surrounded by textbooks and notebooks. "Now, let's go over your trigonometry homework."

"Uh," before Stan could continue Wendy plucked the notebook lying by his open math book.

"You've been doodling this whole time!" Wendy looked at her silent boyfriend and rubbed her temples again, "You were supposed to be doing this while I did my French homework, remember? So I could check it for you Stan…like you asked me to?"

"Um, whoops?" Stan faltered as he looked up. It was kind of funny though, he thought, Wendy and Kyle were almost interchangeable in a moment like this.

"Stan," she just sighed and sat down next to him. "Okay, in problem one…"

And the rest of the day was kind of a blur; Stan remembered staring at Wendy a lot and her feeble attempts to redirect his concentration, but that was about it. So yeah, that really hadn't helped him much. And now he was standing between two awkward inducing friends, a situation that wasn't being helped by Ike's curious stares between all three of them. Stan prayed that Cartman would show up for the bus today. If there was one thing that kid was the master at it was the inability to be quiet and polite; it was a combination that was the perfect destroyer of awkwardness, even if it was frequently followed by rage.

Lo and behold, something holy or lucky must've been shining on him that day because no sooner had he thought it than none other than Eric Cartman appeared in the horizon. When the largest member of their little party had arrived he burst into laughter and doubled over; he was looking Kyle up and down with somewhat malicious mirth.

"What happened to you butt pirate?" Cartman asked a moment later, wiping tears from his eyes.

"I did!" Kenny interjected; he winked at Kyle.

Kyle's face flushed almost purple. For a second Stan was afraid he'd had a stroke or an aneurism or something.

"You did not Kenny!" Kyle shouted back and then, more pointedly directed at Kenny, "and you never will."

Once again Stan felt himself at a curious loss; Kyle's gritted out words definitely had a specific underlying meaning, if he were blind he'd have been able to see it, but as to what the hell that was…well, he had nothing.

Cartman laughed again, though this time it seemed to be at something that was going over Stan's head and he had a feeling that his intuitive teammate had picked up on at least a piece of the thing between Kyle and Kenny. And that just fucking sucked. Stan might've wanted to know what the fuck was going on, but there was no way in hell he'd go to Cartman for the answer; Cartman would use the knowledge either to a) create amusement for himself or b) use Stan's supposed "debt" for some current or future scheme. It was bad enough that Cartman might know now, Stan involving himself would only further prompt the other boy's dark side.

"Ew," Ike was pulling a face, "You guys are disgusting. I don't want to hear about any of your perverted habits."

"Stay out of this Ike," Kyle barked back, but his words were partially drowned out by the rumble of the approaching bus.

When the bus pulled to a stop in front of them Kyle's fists were still clenched and his teeth were bared in a vicious snarl. Ike, who was used to having his brother push him protectively to the front, actually blinked a moment before hesitantly moving to the bus on his own accord, only frowning when Cartman called out "Move Jewrunt!" as he paused to look back at Kyle, who seemed frozen in place.

"Go on Kenny," Stan's tone warned against Kenny, who had stayed behind as well, spewing whatever was on the tip of his open mouth's tongue.

Kenny seemed to consider for a moment whether or not it was worth it to refuse Stan's order; he looked back between Stan and Kyle who were both glaring, the former at him mildly and the latter viciously in the direction of the dirt below. Finally he closed his mouth with a roll of his eyes and pulled up his hood as he strolled over to the bus.

Stan grasped Kyle's shoulder with a heavy hand and gave him a friendly little kick in the calf. "Come on dude, school time. If you don't wanna have to walk we'd better get on now."

The comment seemed to shake Kyle out of his angry reverie; he stood a little straighter and led the way to the bus. "Didn't think I'd see the day when Stan Marsh was awake enough to actually want to go to school," he threw over his shoulder.

Stan snorted, "Like hell I wanna go to school, but I sure as fuck am not walking there willingly dude. And I seriously doubt you'd let me skip on your watch."

"You have to keep your attendances low Stan, it's only fall and you've already missed some school. This is junior year and you have football too, you can't miss school," Kyle reprimanded as he slid into his normal window seat. Kyle began to run a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it and rearranged the misplaced papers in his bag. Where, of course, he found his ushanka crumpled and hiding, causing him to curse and shove the miscreant hat on his head.

Stan was glad that the new focus had lifted Kyle's spirits, but it being on altering Stan's supposed "bad habits" was a little irritating.

"Goddamn Kyle, you sound like Wendy," Stan rolled his eyes. His comment was overheard by Eric Cartman.

"Hah! See Hippie you're finally admitting your gay love for Kyle! You're practically dating him with a pussy! Oh wait, there's no difference!" He had leaned forward so Stan could see his laughing face past Kenny, who was manically giggling as well.

"Hey Cartman, where's that car of yours huh?" Kyle threw at him with a sneer.

Cartman's laughter stopped abruptly while Kenny's continued. "It's coming Kahl! We're just working on the price!"

"Oh…so how many more "installment plans" does your mom have left fatass?" The redhead made the appropriate air quotation marks with his fingers.

"At least my mom's not a big fat bitch!"

"At least my mom's not the biggest whore in Colorado!"

"Hiya guys!" The bus had gotten to the next stop without any of them realizing it.

"Hey Butters," Stan was the only one who acknowledged his presence.

Butters claimed an empty seat, seemingly unperturbed by the lack of excitement over his arrival. He did, however, turn to regard both Cartman and Kyle.

"Aw, you two aren't fighting again are you? You really shouldn't fight like that; you fellas almost got into a fist fight yesterday…and then you woulda been in real big trouble. I don't think that'd be worth it," Butters finished with a mild, but disapproving, frown.

It didn't stop his glare, but Kyle turned away from Cartman to instead cross his cross and stare holes into the seat in front of him. Having lost the attention of his adversary Cartman rolled his eyes, exclaimed "Shut up Butters," and proceeded to eat some previously hidden snack. Stan had rarely been as grateful for Butters' gay, gay, choice of words.

The bus ride continued in a mildly tense silence, for which Stan was grateful. The bickering and threat of violence aside he could now return to his usual morning mental haze in peace. He rested his head against the back of his seat and shut his eyes; he'd wake up later…around fourth period maybe…yeah, that sounded good.

* * *

><p>For Kyle the school day was going as peacefully, if more alertly, as Stan's. He cared about his friends a lot, it would've been impossible not to, but if he had had to spend any of his early morning classes with his obnoxious, inattentive, "C" average friends then for the love of God he would pull out every one of his motherloving hairs.<p>

This time of the day was his zen time, filled with anal retentive, straight "A" students like himself. It was a nice time of day, with schoolwork that was actually challenging and student discussions that ventured beyond "Okay, so who actually did read the fucking book?"

AP English went smoothly. AP Calculus was calming. And by AP Modern European History he was feeling rather at one with the universe.

And then came the shit storm that was Honors French.

French class was the only morning class he had that left him unable to escape most of his usual classmates; much to the vocalized chagrin and protest of both himself and Wendy Testaburger Juniors were allowed under no circumstances to advance to AP level language classes. So he was stuck here. In honors. With his fellow classmates. And Kenny.

And Kenny.

And Kenny fucking McCormick.

It was then that Kyle Broflovski's day got a whole lot less zen.

* * *

><p><strong>Next chap should be up in the next week at the latest!<strong>


	4. Je Voudrais Coucher Avec Toi!

**AN: Sorry for the delay! This chap was finished last night, but I was too tired to proofread or edit. I've been helping my parents move and got roped into it again this morning.**

**I want to thank KennnyPlusMe, Amberr-chan, Stalker-san, simply anonymous, and CaKe. for the latest reviews. Really though thank you to everyone who's been reading and especially those who have also been reviewing. Your reviews, although terrify me over feelings of potential failure, make me very happy and flattered.**

**There is some French in this chap, but I will have translations at the end of the chap. The French is pretty self-explanatory though for the most part.**

**I don't own SP! Enjoy! Please R&R!**

* * *

><p><em>"My self concept is awaiting your invasion<br>Clumsy penetration punishment, oh yeah  
>When the hope of another wet nightmare<br>Is all we have to live for" _

_-Of Montreal "Id Engager"_

"Bonjour classe! Attention! Aujourd'hui j'ai un projet pour vous. Les étudiants devant la classe seriez groupe un et les étudiants à la derrière de la classe seriez groupe deux. Je voudrais voir les projets complets à trois semaines. Le sujet du projet serait France cultural."

The class, those that understood all of it anyway, let out a collective groan. A project on cultural France due next week. Oh joy.

Though really, Kenny wasn't terribly upset by the idea. He was in the front half of the class, which meant that one Kyle Broflovski was now a part of his group. Not only would he have more access to the increasingly reclusive Jew, he would also benefit from Kyle's anal retentive nature. Over the past several years Kyle had become nearly obsessive with becoming the perfect student; he was certain to never let his grades slip by even a fraction. The thought of Kyle sacrificing his grade for the sake of remaining unmolested was unimaginable.

And there was the fact that no matter how little Kenny or anyone else did for this project would make sure they would all get an "A" for this project if it killed him.

When Kenny spared a glance in Kyle's direction it seemed as though he was thinking similar thoughts. Kyle looked incredibly frustrated and put-upon; it was likely he had already assumed that most of the work would end up falling to him. For one thing Wendy Testaburger, the other top student of their French class, would be in the other group as she sat in the back of the class; for another, while the class had been titled "Honors French" it was really the fourth level French class, which meant that anyone who hadn't failed out of French by that point was able to take the class. And Kenny McCormick knew how really fucking hard it was to fail out of a South Park language class…or any class for that matter. Despite that particular fact however, their class was relatively small, only comprising of fifteen students.

…Which didn't mean that they were the top students by any standard. The class average was a "C-" half due to lack of intelligence and half to pure laziness.

Kenny was a rather apathetic contributor to the latter of the two problems.

Still though, he thought as he watched the gears turn in Kyle's frustrated psyche, maybe this time he should get a little more involved with his schoolwork.

_Then I can get more involved with my other "project"._

In spite of his audience the blonde suddenly let out a string of high, maniacal laughter.

"Oh, Kenny est-ce que vous êtes excité parce que le projet? Je suis très fière." The young and hot, very hot and very stupid, French teacher beamed with oblivious joy over Kenny's apparent "enthusiasm".

"Oh oui madame. Je suis très excite…très, très excité." It was most French Kenny had willingly spoken all year. It was also the only French he had ever spoken that hadn't involved sexual positions or long strings of curse words.

Only their wannabe blonde teacher failed to notice the lecherous tone or the accompanying leer. When Kenny looked to Kyle he saw the other boy seemed to have developed a twitch, a very faint one, but Kenny noticed it in the corner of his right eye.

Who knew learning could be so much fun?

* * *

><p>Clang.<p>

It was the sharp metallic sound of a locker being slammed shut. A weary hand was still resting on the closed door, waiting as though hoping to divine answers from its cool surface.

The possessor of said hand didn't know whether to sigh or scream.

Kyle Broflovski hated group projects with a burning passion, an aversion that had stemmed from his primary school experiences. He had learned very early on that when you are the smartest and/or most driven of your peers you all too frequently end up getting the short end of the stick. That of course, was the PG version; the real story if that the best students always get figuratively fucked up the ass when placed in groups…repeatedly.

Oh how he regretted taking French now.

It had all started in eighth grade; the year that they had all been forced to choose a language: Spanish or French. Almost all of his classmates and peers had decided to take Spanish, a class that they had deemed probably easier and definitely more useful than French. Kyle had been one of the few who had adamantly refused to take the course, ostensibly because French was more fluid, intellectual, and internationally useful, it was after all the second international language; he had even tried to persuade Stan to join him through a series of well planned arguments…Stan had refused though…his exacts words had been, "Dude, when am I going to use French…like, ever?"

In the end, however, Kyle had been joined by a few of his peers, although the French department would always remain tiny compared to size of the Spanish department. The majority of his miniscule class consisted of seniors who were too lazy or stupid to move up to the next level, but he did end up sharing Honors French with Butters Stotch, Wendy Testaburger, Tweek Tweak, Token Black, and, of course, Kenny McCormick. Initially he had been pleased when his blonde friend decided to take French with him, even though the other boy's motives for taking the so-called "language of love" had been less than academic.

Now, however, he was seriously regretting that he had ever encouraged Kenny to join him.

It was a group project so, theoretically speaking, there was no need for Kenny to ever be alone with him, especially with the in-class time they'd been promised to work on this…but still, he had a bad feeling about this. He might not have had much faith in Kenny's book smarts, but the guy had more street smarts than just about anybody he knew; if there was someone who could figure out how to separate him from a group of people or subtly harass him in a crowd it was Kenny, and he had already proven that to Kyle several times over.

…And even regardless of Kenny's more sexually explicit interpretation of "working together" there was also the fact that, most likely, Kyle would be left to do most of the grunt work for this little project. The seniors wouldn't lift a finger, Kenny would pass the buck to him, Butters tried hard but had little understanding of the subject, and Tweek, who was the only other member of the group whose intelligence Kyle trusted, would most likely would most be spending his time trying not to suffer a nervous breakdown over the pressure that this assignment instilled. Why, oh why, couldn't he sit in the back half of the class with Wendy and Token…if he was back there…but he wasn't. And that was the sad state of affairs.

Moses must've really hated him.

The balloons and streamers were up and the music was blasting when his pity party was interrupted by a large, heavy hand as it slapped him on the back.

"Kyle! Just who I've been looking for…"

* * *

><p>"So Kyle, Stan and Cartman have football, how's about we get together after school for that project thing?" He leaned casually against the wall of lockers as he watched Kyle stoically move books from his locker to his bag. "We could get a head start on it…or something."<p>

If it hadn't been such a groundbreaking, historical moment, Kenny's academic suggestion might've been believably innocent. Kyle didn't seem to be buying it though; he turned only to quirk one red eyebrow dispassionately in return. Kenny apparently wasn't worth even Kyle's apathy because no sooner had he registered his friend's look than the lithe ginger had turned his attention back to the task at hand. The locker door shut with a metallic click.

"Can't." Kyle didn't even bother to look at him as he turned to walk away.

Kenny felt his own blonde brow furrow as his eyes narrowed. Kyle wasn't going to ignore him dammit! A few months ago he might've rolled his eyes and let Kyle be a little bitch, but now he had a rather intense desire to pull on his red hair instead.

So he did.

"Ow! What the fuck Kenny!" Kyle's hand had gone automatically to grab at the one entangled in his hair.

The accused chose to ignore that; he chose interrogation instead.

"Why're you blowing me off dickhead?" he questioned as he gripped the fiery ringlets a little tighter, weaving his fingers further into the dense landscape of hair.

"I have basketball practice asshole!" Kenny's hold was broken as Kyle pried the blonde's hand away from his head with a sudden yank. He whirled on Kenny, rubbing at the spot where his hair had been pulled instead of righting the ushanka that Kenny had shoved out of place. Kenny wasn't surprised it hurt, his hand had been rather entrenched in those tight curls, he was more surprised a hunk of Kyle's wonderful red hair hadn't parted ways with his scalp. "What the fuck is your problem man?"

He crossed his orange-clad arms petulantly. "You. You're lying. Basketball doesn't start till December." Why Kyle's lie was irritating him wasn't confusing Kenny, but why he wasn't just rolling his eyes and walking away like usual…well, he'd never done that before.

"I'm. On. Varsity." Kyle's words were slow and punctuated, full of rage and spoken as though Kenny were a particularly moronic and vexing three year old. "We. Start. Early. You know, just like I did last year?"

For a minute they stood still in time, both glaring at each other, one with arms crossed over a puffed chest and the other leaning forward aggressively as he rubbed his tender scalp. Kenny began to feel an odd discomfort creeping along his skin, making him want to look away, making his skin want to flush with some dark emotion as his pulse beat at a quickened pace. If he didn't do something he was going to start physically squirming and that was something he wasn't going to let happen, not here, not in front of the guy he'd been trying to exude power and control over.

"Whatever." He pulled up his hood pulled the strings dismissively; he sauntered past Kyle with a nonchalance that he didn't feel. "Tell me when you wanna do that shit."

And then he walked rather coolly out the door and onto the school bus just as it was making to leave.

He didn't do it on the bus as he sat next to Butters. He didn't do it as he walked solitarily past the railroad tracks to his home. He didn't do it when he closed the front door behind him to the greeting sound of his parents' bickering. He didn't even do it when he shut his bedroom door and the sounds of arguing became muted and dull. As soon as he sat down on the edge of his bed, however, he did do it.

Kenny let out one of the biggest exhales of his life; his knees went wobbly. The edges of shaggy blonde hair obscured his vision as he bent over and took several deep breaths. In and out. In and out. It wasn't really helping much, though, because he could still only think one singular thought.

_What the fuck was that shit?_

* * *

><p>Ah, the smell of floor wax and the squeak of sneakers on basketball court; this was Heaven.<p>

Kyle drank it all in. At that moment he couldn't have been more thankful that his coach had found him. He could've done without the back slap, but starting varsity basketball practice even earlier than usual was well worth it. Normally the start of basketball season, though he loved to play, stressed him because of the additional demands of his time and energy, but right now he couldn't be happier.

Basketball was something he was good at; hell, he was probably the best player in the school. Okay, so being the best at basketball didn't mean much to a football-obsessed high school, but still, it meant something to him. Basketball made him special, it was exhilarating, and, currently most importantly, it was one of the few fucking places left where Kenny couldn't bother him.

And that was indeed a rarity these days.

Especially as his latest encounter with the blonde bimbo had proved.

Kyle frowned as he touched the area where Kenny had pulled; it was mostly covered by the base of his poof-ed out ponytail. It was both odd and yet so like Kenny to pull that shit. Though honestly, he would've expected Kenny to try to molest him than to get seriously offended by his rebukes. After all, such things hadn't stopped him up until then.

"Haha, what's with the hair Kyle?" Clyde Donovan was laughing as he walked up to Kyle, freshly changed into his jersey and shorts.

His vivid green eyes flashed and rolled. "Shut up Clyde." In the humidity of the gym his hair was already coming to resemble a mini fireball behind his head and it would only get worse as they began to play.

"Dude, why don't you just shave it or something?" The brunette was still chuckling with mirth.

Kyle gave a half-shrug. "Dude, my mom would kill me. Something about denying my Jewish heritage or something gay like that."

"Mama's boy." It was said playfully. One other thing Kyle liked about basketball, he and Clyde were closer friends on the court than they would ever be off it, and it was nice to have a friend outside of his own "clique". "So, what's varsity practice like?"

"I don't know. I guess the same as j.v. I mean, it's a bunch a drills and stuff and then some scrimmage-esque games." Kyle kneeled down to double-check the laces of his hi-tops.

"You weren't even on j.v.," Clyde whined, "You went straight from freshman basketball to varsity. It's not fair."

"Don't hate me just because I'm awesome at this Clyde," he said it with a smirk as he rose from the ground.

"You sound just like Craig dude," the brunette's reply was somewhere between a snort and a whine. He laughed, though, as he saw Kyle's nose wrinkle in distaste.

"Ugh, don't even say that. Ever." Clyde laughed some more, then stopped suddenly.

"Coach is doing it again this year."

"Doing what Clyde?" Kyle sighed; okay, he liked Clyde, but sometimes it felt like you had to lead that horse to water _and_ show it how to drink.

"Oh, uh, having some sophomore join varsity," now his teammate's face screwed up in jealousy, "He's some hotshot or something. It's not fair." The brunette was pouting…and it was reminding him, unbidden, a little too much of the blonde he had just left.

The redhead chose to roll his eyes with heartfelt disdain. "Clyde? Shut up."

The whiner opened his mouth, no doubt to let loose a complaint about either Kyle's lack of sympathy or their coach's choice of players, but was cut off by a loud whistle.

"Alright team, gather up!"

The chattering and scattered young men came to form a sort of huddle in front of their coach, the whistle now dangling from his neck.

"Okay," he started, "Welcome to varsity basketball Cows! Some of you are new to varsity, but you should all know each other from either varsity or junior varsity. We do, however, have one new recruit from freshman basketball. Everyone this is Bridon Gueermo." He pulled a boy who had been hidden in the crowd into the limelight, a boy who looked extremely uncomfortable at having such attention drawn to him. Which was understandable…especially seeing as almost the entire team was glaring at the underclassman that had come to "upstage" them. Oh yeah, Kyle definitely remembered that feeling. Being a favored underclassman amongst upperclassman was the same as being the teacher's pet…a.k.a. a popularity death sentence.

"Alright team. Start on speed drills and then we'll do some one on one. After that we'll have a practice game and I'll assess your skills. Go!" The shrill yell of the whistle dismissed them to their task.

"Kyle! Stay here a minute."

Kyle stopped in his tracks and jogged back to his coach. "Yeah coach?"

His coach cuffed his shoulder with one hand, his other still on the shoulder of the squirming sophomore. "Kyle, you and Bridon are easily my best two players and frankly, the only two here who can play without making me want to go home and drink myself to sleep as I cry over my chosen career path."

O….kay. "Uh…thanks?" It was all he could say and, if possible, Bridon looked even more uncomfortable.

"The point is, you two have talent and I'm not having you waste it on these other bozos. I want you two to work together and practice together. Kyle, you show him the ropes and teach him what you know."

"Okay," he wasn't sure how much he actually liked the idea, but he was really hoping that the sooner he agreed the sooner his shoulder would be released from custody.

"Alright then, have at it." Finally the two teenagers were left alone.

"Uh, so yeah, I'm Bridon…that was…" the younger teen looked unsure how to continue, as if he was carefully considering how to avoid further pissing off any upperclassman.

Kyle took a moment to look Bridon over; he was maybe an inch taller than himself, his chestnut brown hair was elegantly disheveled, he was more solid than Kyle but only so that he appeared lean instead of downright skinny, his slightly baby-faced look was enhanced by his large, sparkling brown eyes and long lashes, and overall he looked like he'd stepped out of a teen girl magazine. In short, the guy was somewhere between freaking adorable and sex-on-a-stick hot.

Unfortunately for Bridon, his good looks were going to be more likely to get him enemies than friends out of his teammates.

"Weird? Yeah, you'll get used to it; Coach does that…a lot. Come on, let's go do some shit you probably already know." He gave a friendly head jerk as he motioned for the other boy to follow him.

Bridon seemed to deflate a little in relief, he flashed his new teammate-buddy a grin full of perfect white teeth. "Yeah, okay."

The two spent the rest of the practice chatting and laughing, thoroughly enjoying each other's company. There was just something about Bridon, something Kyle couldn't quite put his finger on, that made him feel a kind of kinship with the guy. Maybe it was that he had also been a hated sophomore on the varsity team, but it felt like something else…

"Hey, Bridon, if you're not up to anything, wanna hang out for a bit?" Kyle asked as the two inexplicably hung back as their other teammates all headed to the locker room.

Bridon looked pleasantly surprised and pleased; he flashed Kyle another pearly-white smile, "Sure; that'd be great."

As the duo continued to talk over the barrier of gym lockers as they changed in the empty room. They were still laughing as they headed out of school to where Kyle's mom was waiting in the car. By the time Bridon left to walk home the two had practically become bosom buddies.

For the first time in weeks, between basketball and Bridon, Kyle felt truly relaxed. He still couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something about that sophomore that he already felt a bond with…and it was good, really good.

He had the feeling this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

What Kyle had so easily forgotten, however, was that in the grand game of life Fate or God had decided that Kyle was only a pawn for their amusement.

* * *

><p>The next two weeks came and went in agonizing monotony.<p>

Kenny got up, went to school, came home, passed the time, went to bed, and woke up to do it all over again. Maybe it wouldn't have seemed so bad before, but now that he had gotten used to his daily routine of "Kyle-hunting" the days were becoming progressively duller and irritatingly boring. It wasn't like Kyle had been eager to hang out with Kenny before, but still the nearly complete disappearance of his other friends made the redhead's appearance even less likely. Damn school sports. Gaywads.

It was the beginning of November, the climatic period of the football season where the coach rode his players' asses in desperate hopes for an end of season win and culminated in a homecoming game for Thanksgiving weekend. This also meant that football practices and/or games were happening almost daily, weekends included. And then of course Kyle's varsity basketball practices…although he was completely certain those weren't happening nearly as frequently as Kyle claimed, especially since Clyde Donovan didn't seem anywhere as busy as Kyle.

Regardless, with Stan, Craig, and Cartman in football and Kyle in basketball the only times he saw his closest friends lately was on the bus and during school. Normally this wouldn't have bothered him much. Yeah, sure, last year he'd gotten kinda bored this time of year, but he'd mostly played video games and found some really awesome porn to pass the time. Hell, after the porn he'd hardly fucking cared whether his friends were busy or not. But this year seemed different.

Yeah, this year was very different.

Last year, didn't give two shits about it really.

This year he gave a shit. A big shit in fact.

His little blonde head wasn't so sure that he liked this.

Now he was caring way too much about his friends' presence or, actually, his friend's presence, one redhead to be specific; because wasn't there all he could think about was getting Kyle there and getting a blush, a sign of submission, aggression, anything out of him. Lately getting any interesting reaction out of Kyle had proved to be very difficult, read really fucking annoyingly difficult, indeed.

Oh sure, Kyle got irritated with him, got pissed at him, shoved him off or away, etc. etc., but it was almost apathetic, pro forma. Kyle would his eyes with disinterest, as though Kenny were an annoying yapping puppy, something to be mildly humored and put up with, but deemed a waste of any real investment of energy or emotion. The be-hooded devil in the orange parka had even upped the ante on several occasions, but still his little Jew was all too willing to be distracted by something other than Kenny's overt sexual harassment. The ginger had indeed become absent-minded and distracted…at least in his blue eyes, but he was certain he was right. Kyle seemed a lot happier, and more relaxed, than he had in the past couple of months, and it seemed to be preoccupying his mind; even his green eyes had become more unreadable than ever before…though it was also hard to get Kyle to look him in the eye long enough to actually study those irises and dark pupils.

Goddamn Kyle's fucking happiness.

Friends are supposed to be happy when their friends are happy. Kenny should've been happy, or at least neutral over the happiness and well being of someone he'd considered a friend since pre-school, but he wasn't. No, he definitely wasn't. He inexplicably felt a yawning hurt over Kyle's nonchalance, like there was an old but aching gash in his chest. And there was something else; he felt something very dark swirling and pooling in the depths of his gut. It was growing and spreading, but he pushed it down, ignored it and feigned ignorance over its existence. It was growing though. It was growing and it wouldn't be ignored forever.

But until then Kenny planned on pushing it down, way, way down. Sooner rather than later Kyle would be forced to work with him on this French project-thing…he could wait for that. Oh yes, he planned to take advantage of that time.

His lips quirked from a thoughtful frown into a mischievous smile of sorts, the sort that should've been accompanied by crashes of thunder, streaks of lightening, and an ominous "Mwuahaha!" His problem solved, for the moment anyway, Kenny dug under the mattress he'd been doing his contemplating on. He was feeling rather classy today. A copy of "Playboy" was retrieved from the hidden cavern of his pilfered porno mags. A contented sigh left him as his deep blue eyes became half-lidded and dreamy. Damn, Hugh Hefner was a lucky son of a bitch.

* * *

><p>They had been there all of fifteen minutes when Butters got a phone call. The naïve boy looked reluctant to answer it; Kenny and Kyle could already guess that it must've been his parents.<p>

"Oh, sorry fellas. I gotta answer this real quick. Hello? Dad? No, I-I don't know wh-I'm sor-Oh, okay Dad. Bye." Butters stood and started to gather his things. "I'm real sorry Kyle, but, um, I just got grounded for two weeks, so I gotta go home now."

"Dude, what the fuck did you do to get grounded?"

Kyle looked from Butters' apologetic face to Kenny's incredulous one. He'd been thinking the same thing actually. At the moment their same mental process was vaguely discomforting to Kyle.

"Well, gee Kenny, I don't know actually." Butters' forehead was furrowed in puzzlement, "But I'm sure my Dad'll tell me when I get home. See ya in school tomorrow. Sorry again Kyle."

"It's okay Butters, you can just do your part at home and then we'll put it all together in class." His red curls bounced slightly as he waved Butters off.

"Yeah; good luck with the grounding!" Kenny chimed in dismissal.

"Thanks guys," and with that Butters made his exit.

As soon as they heard him close the front door both boys stared at the place he'd just stood in disbelief. Kenny snorted; Kyle just shook his head, further shaking the curls that had been freed from the green unshanka that lay at the edge of his desk.

"That guy is either going to be one of those super freaky goody types or a fucking serial killer."

"Yeah," that was all Kyle could think to say in return. The sad part was it really was true.

An awkward silence followed. It was just the two of them now, a situation Kyle had been desperately trying to avoid. He'd put off getting their group together for the past two and half weeks and now he had no choice but to try to get everyone together. Of course it wasn't going like he'd planned or hoped for. Most of the group, meaning all of the seniors, had blown him off and Tweek, who'd promised he'd be there, was MIA. He'd been relieved beyond belief when Butters had been able to come back with him and Kenny to his house. Thinking back he realized that his voice had probably cracked in over exuberance when he said, "Oh Butters, you can come back with us? That's great! Thank you Butters, thank you so much!"

Kenny, of course, had been practically pinning Kyle against a wall with his body weight when Butters had, wonderfully, interrupted.

Speaking of Kenny, the guy was acting really weird, weird even compared to lately. The dirty-blonde had been acting rather irritated with Kyle, even his come ons and sexual advances had taken on a more aggressive tone than before. He should've just been pissed at Kenny, seriously, the guy had been practically molesting him, despite his vocal protests, for nearly two months now! But, despite what he knew he should've felt, instead he felt rather confused by the whole thing. Yeah, sure, he'd been ditching Kenny lately…and he'd been hanging out with Bridon mostly outside of school, but what did Kenny think he was going to do, sit around and wait for Kenny's next sexual attack?

_Fucking Jewish guilt._ He didn't want to feel it, but it was still there. He knew he was in the right, completely in the right, but Kenny's pissy attitude made him question if there was any validity to the nagging guilt in his gut.

While Kyle mulled over the everlasting dilemma that was his relationship, -no friendship, friendship!, with Kenny McCormick the two sat in an uncomfortable silence. The silence continued for a few minutes, stretching on and on. Kyle studied the faux wood grain of his desktop while Kenny lay on his bed behind him, still clad in his hood and gloves despite being inside.

Finally Kyle broke the silence.

"Have you even started your part Kenny?"

"All done. You just gotta type it up," he walked over and dropped a collection of loose leaf papers rather smugly in front of him before shuffling back over to Kyle's bed.

Kyle wasn't listening anymore though, he was scanning. His green eyes, bright with intent, were scouring each line quickly as he flipped through the few pages there. It was one of the oddest things he could've imagined. Every single line had been constructed in immaculate French.

He was beyond surprised, beyond stunned even. All he could do was shake his head disbelievingly.

"I don't get you Kenny."

_Half the time you won't say a word and the other half you won't shut the hell up with all your vulgarities._

"You know this stuff, all of this stuff. Why don't you do any of the work? You could easily get an "A"."

A shrug. "Eh, don't feel like it. Too much effort. Doesn't matter anyway, s'not like I'm gonna use it ever…except to bag chicks."

He rolled his eyes. "There are other uses for French Kenny; you know, like, practical purposes?"

Suddenly Kenny sat up cross-legged to face Kyle, he pulled tightly on the strings of his up hood. "When the fuck am I going to use French Kyle? It's not like I'm going to college." Just as abruptly he flopped back down on Kyle's bed, as if to erase the sad bitterness that had laced his words.

There was a moment of tenseness before Kyle spoke.

"I think you could Kenny. I think you could go to college." Kyle's words came out so quietly for a moment he wasn't even sure Kenny had heard him. There was silence and stiffness hanging there, causing Kyle to finally look up, directly into Kenny's face. Kenny had repositioned himself to look at Kyle around the edge of the bed, his hood was down and there was an odd expression on his face; he looked vaguely stunned and pink, as though the compliment had awed him.

"Um, thanks." It was a rare moment these days when Kenny let himself appear so vulnerable; Kyle felt himself go a little pink.

"Well…it's true."

For nearly a full minute they stared at one another, both of them baring slightly darkened cheeks and a look of uncertainty. There was something both supremely awkward and supremely enjoyable about this moment. But alas, all such moments have to end sooner or later.

And sure enough, this one did and in the least romantic of ways. The blushing boys were interrupted by the shrill sound of a cell phone ringing. Kenny broke the hold of their gaze to pull said phone out of his jeans' pocket.

"Yo…huh? Oh. Yeah, alright. Cool, catch ya later."

"What? Is Tweek on his way over?" Kyle asked with some enthusiasm and relief, encouraged by Kenny's pleased grin.

"Nope! No one's coming over, it's just gonna be us!" Kyle didn't know how one person could continually shift so quickly from arrogant to blushing to feral. He himself blanched.

"What? What the fuck! Tweek's bailing on us?" In two seconds the angry redhead had whipped out his own cell phone, fingers itching at the buttons.

Kenny's words continued in the background as he vigorously pressed at the keys.

"He can't dude. Emergency football practice, so he's stuck there." But Kyle wasn't listening.

"What? What does that have to do with Tweek?" Kyle was already finding and dialing the number, he didn't wait to greet Tweek before grilling him. "Tweek, what the hell? No-Tweek-Tweek! Just shut up! Craig! Give the phone back to Tweek, I need to ta-What! Fuck you Craig! Fuck you you fucking asshole!" Kyle snapped his phone shut, he looked, and felt, vaguely enraged.

"Craig kidnapped Tweek?" He could've sworn he heard a pleased smirk in Kenny's voice.

"Yeah," he grit out, still seething. Somehow he couldn't help but think Kenny and Craig had somehow planned this. He couldn't believe he had just complimented the asshole a minute ago. He spun back in his chair to glare at his desk.

"So, guess it's just us then." Behind him Kenny's voice was suddenly very low and very close to his ear.

"Whatever Kenny. Just let me finish this goddamn thing, okay?" he muttered, his stress and anger were being taxed beyond belief.

"And what if I don't let you finish, huh Ginger?" Kenny's long arms found themselves draped around Kyle's neck; Kenny's voice was even huskier and closer to his ear, he could feel Kenny's hot breath on his neck. Despite himself Kyle felt himself shiver a little as his pace quickened; he shifted slightly to disguise it.

"Then I'll kick you out and tell Madame that you didn't do anything and I'll let you fail the project Kenny." Kyle snapped after he regained composure, and his voice.

"Fine. Whatever." There was a sudden coolness in his voice and where his arms and breath had once been. To his great surprise the messy blonde sulked off to Kyle's bed and flopped back down on it, staring at the ceiling and ignoring Kyle's questioning expression.

Giving up on Kenny, Kyle finally turned back to his desk with a sigh. He knew he shouldn't, he really, really shouldn't, but he felt an ache of longing for Kenny's arms again. It was weird. It was almost…

…like he wanted Kenny to touch him.

* * *

><p><strong>"Bonjour classe! Attention! Aujourd'hui j'ai un projet pour vous. Les étudiants devant la classe seriez groupe un et les étudiants à la derrière de la classe seriez groupe deux. Je voudrais voir les projets complets à trois semaines. Le sujet du projet serait France cultural." - Hello class! Attention! Today I have a project for you. The students in the front of the class will be group one and the students in the back of the class will be group two. I want to see the complete projects in three weeks. The subject for the projust will be cultural France.<strong>

**"Oh, Kenny est-ce que vous êtes excité parce que le projet? Je suis très fière." - Oh, Kenny are you excited because of the project? I'm very proud (pleased, etc.).**

**"Oh oui madame. Je suis très excite…très, très excité." - Oh yes madame. I'm very excited...very, very excited.**

**See you soon on the next chap! Please, please review...it makes me smile :)**


	5. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

**AN: Ok...first off I just had a whole thing written here (like so many times before) and my internet was a bitch and erased it. Short version: sorry this has taken so long, lots of personal crap, writer's block, etc. Next chap might be shorter (like this one) but will be out sooner. I hope you guys still like reading this and sorry if this chap isn't as good (it was kinda the hump chap so to speak) I love you guys for all your reading, favoriting, and reviewing! Sorry again for the wait and the length of this...it was a really hard chap to write for many reasons :( I hope you guys like it, next one will be out sooner! Love you guys! I don't own SP!**

* * *

><p><em>"When we spoke, no joke<br>I started shedding slutty girls like snakeskin,  
>My collection acquired through shallow misdirection<br>And as I drive tonight,  
>West coast sky daring me to try,<br>I feel alive tonight,  
>The possibility that I'm your guy" - Say Anything<em>

"I'm bored." The twenty minutes of the ambient noises of keyboard clacking and intermittent chair squeaking were broken from the prone figure stretched on the bed.

"Good for you Kenny," Kyle didn't even look up.

"You're the host Kyle; you're s'posed to keep me entertained," Kenny swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up.

Still seated at his desk Kyle snorted. "First of all, we're supposed to be working on this damn report which, by the way, is going to take even more time since everyone else bailed on us. Secondly, fuck you, I know you don't give a crap about that 'host' bullshit; and third, entertain your own damn self Kenny."

The click-clack of keyboard keys resumed as Kyle buried himself back into his task at hand. The other boy however, the one who has just been ordered to entertain his "own damn self", seemed inclined acquiesce to his own interpretation of his friend's demands.

Kenny was so quiet that when he crept behind Kyle and draped his long arms around his neck he felt the ginger practically jump out of his skin.

"Goddammit Kenny! Don't do that!"

Kyle's exclamation was all together ignored by the aforementioned person.

"But Kyle, I know something that will keep us both entertained," his whispered words slipped out silky smooth into Kyle's ear.

The desk chair violently swung around, forcing Kenny to remove his offending appendages. Even his glare couldn't disguise the hint of a blush that still tainted Kyle's cheeks.

"Kenny-"

Suddenly Sheila Broflovski was standing in the doorway.

"Oh Kenny, bubellah, you're still here; would you like to stay for dinner?"

Kenny ignored what he was sure was a look of protest from Kyle. He answered sweetly to the second redhead, "Okay, thanks Mrs. Brof, if I'm not too much or anything."

"Of course not Kenny, you boys are practically mishpucheh," Kenny wondered if this included Eric Cartman, "I've made more than enough for everyone. Now, both you boys come down and give me a hand, dinner's almost ready."

"Okay, Ma." Kyle stood and followed his mother without a word or a glance at Kenny, Kenny trailed behind him.

As soon as the trio had turned the corner from the bottom of the stairs into the dining room Sheila was executing orders. "Alright now, Kenny dear, take off your gloves and wash your hands. You can help me finish with the food and set the table. Tsk, Ike's late. Boubbie, go and get your brother at his little friend's and make sure to wear a coat and grab a scarf; it's getting cold out."

Kyle paused and looked between his mother and friend suspiciously for a moment. He seemed reluctant to leave the two of them alone, but powerless to do anything, he started again and headed to the door. Out of eyesight there was a rustle of fabric and the whine of a door hinge followed quickly by the heavy slam of the front door.

"And don't slam the door!" Sheila called out a second too late. Her hands went to rest on her hips as she let out a frustrated grunt. "He's such a good boy, but he's been acting so strange lately."

When she turned to Kenny, who stood stock still, she was smiling again. "Alright Kenny, let's get this done, Kyle's father will be home soon too."

Kenny tugged off his gloves, the dark and dirty threadbare material glided across his rough skin. He shoved them into the pocket of his sweatshirt carelessly. He shoved his sleeves up to the elbow as he went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. Sheila listed off instructions as he rinsed the soap off his skin.

"I'm just going to finish with the chicken and let the rolls sit in the oven a few minutes," she stood over a hot skillet as she spoke, spatula in hand, "Kenny, you can make a salad. Everything's by the cutting board, just tear up the lettuce and chop up the vegetables. Then you can mix it up with the salad tongs."

Kenny made his way to stand at the counter space next to Sheila and began his task. One thing was for certain, with Kyle's mom you definitely always had clear cut instructions.

"Kenny dear," Sheila's voice cut through as he raised the knife. "You boys are all at that age, you're all growing up so fast."

Kenny wasn't sure if he liked where this was going; he sensed one of those awkward parent talks coming on. He was rarely privy to one of those and his most recent had prompted him to chase after this woman's son like he was the last man, woman, or anything remotely fuckable, left on the planet. And although somewhat intrigued, he doubted this conversation would be nearly as interesting as the ones he and Kyle had had with their fathers.

"All of the sudden Kyle won't tell me anything."

She was probing him. Okay, now he definitely didn't like where this was going.

_He never told you anything, _Kenny thought.

"I don't understand it, but Kyle's father says it's normal. Anyway, you boys are so close and I'm worried about him since he's been acting so odd," Sheila paused. "I've seen him act like this before, but not this much. I think he must have a crush on a boy at school. Has he told you anything?"

Startled, he felt himself go rigid with discomfort. Leave it to mothers to turn even the cockiest of young men into self-conscious boys. "No," he said with a shake of his head.

"I wonder if it's that Bridon boy from basketball, they're so close. Oh, or maybe Stan. I hope it's not Stan, oh my poor little boubbie would just be crushed."

"A boy?" was all that Kenny could say.

"Yes, Kyle is gay, you know that, right Kenny?"

No, but there was no way he was going to let her know that. He nodded his head, "Yeah, but…how-?"

Sheila smiled at him, "A mother just knows some things Kenny. Although I wish he would just tell me, but his father made me promise to wait for him." She frowned in annoyance. Oh I just wish he would, I would love to help him and I'm sure there are some lovely boys from the temple. We could join support groups together too…"

Kenny nodded along, but didn't listen. The carrots were being cut unevenly with inexperience and distraction. _That's probably why he doesn't wanna tell you. He shoulda told me though. Fuck you, Kyle. _Under his hood the blonde was frowning; he was bothered by this new information. It wasn't that surprising, but still, Kyle should've told him, they were friends weren't they? He also felt more than a little irked that Kyle had kept this information secret during his entire pursuit. What else didn't he know about the ginger Jew of South Park?

Sheila train of thought was cut off by the sound of the front door. She looked up and saw her husband stroll in, briefcase in hand. Kenny sliced the rest of a cucumber.

"Ah, you're home Gerald. I was just talking to Kenny about Kyle, he says Kyle hasn't told him anything either."

"Sheila, if Kyle and Kenny don't-wait, what?" Gerald's initially calm admonishment had turned into startled shock as the words exited his mouth. The wrinkles in the middle-aged man's face became all the more pronounced as his wide eyes darted between the teenager and is wife nervously; his silence in the face of his expectantly looking wife spoke volumes to Kenny: he was trying to figure out just how much had been said and how to tread this dangerous territory of minefields and potholes in the coming conversation with his wife of over twenty years.

_Dude, what a pussy. Your dad is so fucking whipped Kyle._

Gerald eyes turned and watched Kenny carefully for a minute before admonishing his wife. "Now Sheila, we promised to let Kyle make that decision on his own. He'll talk to us when he's ready, not Kenny." The two adults were now turned toward one and speaking in the private way couples do, completely lost in their own conversation.

Were they just going to ignore they're little third party?

"I know, but we already know and so does Kenny. What's the harm in finding out who my little bubbellah has a crush on?"

This was getting way too fucking weird. Okay, seriously, had they forgotten a very uncomfortable teenager was standing in their midst?

Kenny stood audience as he watched the family mini-drama unfold. The salad was half-finished and forgotten.

"Sheila," Gerald began, but was stopped by the sound of an opening door and noisy bickering.

"-not the one who told you to come."

"Yeah, well you should've been home already. You knew Mom wanted you home for dinner."

"We were working."

"Bullcrap Ike. You guys were playing video games!"

"I'm gonna tell mom!"

"I'm gonna play kick-the-baby!"

"Ike! Take off your coat and get ready for dinner! Kyle, watch your language, and don't threaten your little brother! Now you three boys finish setting the table."

Having asserted dominance once again Sheila turned to put rolls into a basket. Kyle was glaring when he entered the kitchen, he marched to a cabinet and pulled out a stack of plates. Kenny grabbed a handle and pulled open a squeaky drawer, to fish out silverware. It was a little weird for him to see how they all matched perfectly, no broken or missing pieces.

Both teens went to the dining room and began the set up in silence. Ike soon joined to place out glasses and napkins. In a few minutes the food was on the table and they were feasting in comfortable silence.

A short-lived silence.

"Kyle, take off your hat at the table," Sheila reprimanded. "And Kenny dear, take off that hood."

They did as they were told, Kenny quickly and Kyle unhappily, but wisely saying nothing. They returned to comfortable silence.

Once again it was short-lived.

"I don't understand why either of you do that. Boubbie, you have such beautiful hair! I wish you wouldn't cover it up. Kenny, don't you agree?"

Kyle looked so embarrassed Kenny couldn't help himself, "Yup, sure do Mrs. Broflovski. Kyle, that's some beee-ooo-tiful hair you got there." He smiled cheekily and snickered.

Kyle was glaring daggers at him, but Sheila continued obliviously.

"And Kenny, you're such a handsome boy. I don't understand why you would hide it, you look just like an angel, isn't that right Kyle?"

Kyle's face got redder.

"Mom," he groaned.

"What? Kyle you should be proud to have such an attractive friend. You're all such handsome little men."

"Mom," Kyle repeated, burying his face in his hand.

Kenny was trying hard not to burst out laughing, it was proving difficult. His shoulders were shaking, tears were pricking at the corner of his eyes. This was just too perfect. He should have dinner here more often; eating Kosher was totally worth seeing Kyle's face all pink and red like that.

"I-I'm s-sorry Mrs., Mrs. B. I'll b-be right b-back." Kenny almost knocked his chair down as he ran to the bathroom. He had barely gotten the door shut when he let out a long and loud series of guffaws.

He was doubled over laughing, trying not to vomit what he had just eaten. After a minute or two he had calmed himself to just a few chuckles. As opened the door he wiped the tears from his eyes.

When he returned red-faced and breathless everyone was looking at him. Apparently his laughter had been a little louder than he had realized.

"Kenny, are you alright?" Sheila was looking at him with concern.

"Oh yeah, I just had, uh, something stuck in my throat," he grinned.

"Well, sit down then and have some water. That'll help."

"Thanks Mrs. Brof."

Ignoring the hate lasers of death Kyle's eyes were sending his way, Kenny slid back into his chair. Kyle looked ready to kill him. Ike was watching him as though he was dissecting him under a microscope. Even the normally oblivious Gerald was watching the two boys carefully as he chewed his food slowly. The air was so thick you could cut it with knife.

Sheila Broflovski was the only one who continued normally, unaware of the tension.

"So Kenny, how's your family? What's everyone been up to?"

Silence broken, everyone returned to their plates.

"They're okay, same old."

"That's nice and how's school going?"

"Okay. Kyle's been helping me," He shot Kyle a sly glance.

Kyle grunted inattentively as he slouched over his food.

"Kyle, sit up straight. I'm so glad to hear that. You know, you boys are upperclassmen now. It's time for you to all buckle down and start studying hard. A lot of colleges are getting tougher these days, isn't that right Gerald?"

"Mmm," Gerald didn't look away from his food.

The conversation continued on like this for a few minutes, only Sheila and Kenny talking. Well, more like Sheila talking and Kenny mostly nodding and shaking his head. The three other Broflovskis were grunting or "mmm"-ing in agreement infrequently, not really listening.

"So tell me Kenny, do you have a little girlfriend yet?"

"No, but I'm working on it."

"AH!"

Quickly Kenny retreated his hand.

Thunk.

Everyone looked up at the redheaded, and red-faced, boy, his chair knocked to the floor from his sudden movement.

"Boubbie, are you alright?"

"Yeah Ma," Kyle said as he recovered, blush fading. He moved to right his chair.

"I just thought I felt something _bite me_," the last two words were hissed in Kenny's direction, a statement in and of itself.

"I'm sure it's nothing dude," Kenny smiled rather sweetly. Too sweetly…like aspartame.

Kenny picked up his fork and resumed eating, everyone but Kyle followed suit. After another moment of glowering, Kyle finished his meal too.

Sheila Broflovski had started a one-sided conversation again, but Kenny wasn't paying attention anymore. His right hand tingled. The denim covering his legs felt like Kyle's. His hand was forming memories of its own; the thinness, the lean, toned musculature of Kyle's thigh had burned into the flesh of his fingers.

Huh, well that was a new sensation. It was the polar opposite of unpleasant, but the unceasing tingling where his body had touched Kyle's wasn't something he was used to. The tingling, in fact, seemed to have traveled down somewhere in his belly, where it burned like a little fire. Kenny wasn't the type to overanalyze such reactions though, if he had, well, maybe he would've realized his own predicament a lot sooner. Instead he merely enjoyed the feeling cascading in him.

All throughout dinner the tingling in his body distracted him from everything else. He didn't think much of it when he said his last taunting goodbyes, "See ya later Kyle!" with an exaggerated wink and a moment of rather intimate contact with Kyle's ass that was accepted with curses, or when he walked through the dark over the railroad tracks to his house. The tingling feeling was even still there after his nightly ritual of jerking of, which oddly enough involved Kyle and whipped cream instead of the Playboy Mansion and…well, whipped cream. Even after that though, as he lay in his crappy bed with his eyes drifting closed to the sounds of his parents' drunken arguing, the tingling in his hand continued on.

And in the darkness of the moonlit room Kenny's face softened into its nocturnal state of angelic tenderness. Tonight, for the first time in months, instead of a devil's smirk a contented small smile lay on the lips of the sleeping teenage devil's angel.


	6. Akward Assumptions & Unwanted Advice

**AN: Woohoo! Next chap. Quick legal crap: I don't own SP, and I don't McGruff the anti-drug dog either. Nonlegal stuff: First of all, thank you all so much for reviewing and favoriting and everything else (esp reading!); you have no idea how much it makes my day to read your reviews and see that you like the story :) You are all soooooooo awesome! **

**This would've been out a few days earlier but Hurricane Irene stole my power for several days and I just got it back :-p. Onto the story!**

* * *

><p><em>"Oh are you nervous, like your freshman year<br>Still can't shake this nightmare  
>Get me out of your hair<br>The truth, I know ..." _

_-The Summer Set_

"Are you serious dude?" Kyle caught the ball as it bounced off the waxed coating on the gym floor, the smooth skin of his fingertips gripping the rough rubber surface.

"No," The still sweat-slicked bangs flew from Bridon's forehead as he gave a casual shake of his head. "Guess it wasn't really big in my grade," he shrugged.

Kyle's elbows flared out as threw the ball back toward Bridon, short and hard, so that his teammate had to run up in order to keep the ball from getting away. "What were you guys watching then?"

The fatigued brunette paused for a minute, considering his throw as he spoke. "Well, a lot of us were really into Disney stuff for a while, High School Musical, that stuff." He launched the ball long and high over Kyle's head.

The redhead didn't speak; his eyes watched the ball pass overhead. Kyle's wiry frame moved with seemingly implausible energy and speed as he ran backwards to meet the ball, catching it as he made an impressive jump into the air.

He landed with the poise and confidence of a tomcat and then immediately proceeded to double over. If Bridon had been at all concerned over Kyle's sudden change in demeanor his fears were quickly allayed as the ginger's hysterical laughter echoed in the empty gym.

"Are you fucking serious dude?" The basketball was clutched tightly against Kyle's stomach as he chortled. After he had run out of breath the redhead stood and straightened, wiping a stray tear from his eye as he tried to subdue the remaining chuckles that left him. He looked over at the younger teen, whose face has turned a rather dark shade of pink, with a teasing smile. "Did you actually like that shit?"

Bridon's cheeks had settled into a rather flattering shade of dusty pink. "Hell, no," he shook his head in emphasis, "My dad did though." His cheeks darkened a little again as he mumbled it out.

Kyle kindly chose to ignore Bridon's last words; he could sympathize with having a freak for a dad…he could sympathize a lot. "What did you watch then?"

"Red Racer. What?"

At his new friend's confused question Kyle tried to unwrinkle his nose. "Nothing," he said, focusing again on Bridon and shaking his poofed-out ponytail of red curls. "Just someone I know."

Kyle's attention suddenly snapped back to the ball in his hand, itching to be used, but one look back at his teammate showed how unlikely that was. For the first time the skinny Jew realized the Bridon's pink face hadn't just been from embarrassment. The other kid was pink and covered in sweat, his breathing a little short and winded; he may have been the star of freshman basketball, but it was clear that varsity practices were still rather taxing for the underclassman. Had it been anyone else, Clyde for instance…especially Clyde for instance...Kyle would've shown no mercy, pushed the practice until he himself was ready to be done for the day, but he felt a rather touching sympathy for Bridon. There was something about the guy, a vibe, that just made him feel something...he needed to watch out for Bridon, to protect him in a way that was far less gay than it sounded, well, he thought it was far less gay than it sounded anyway.

The slightly older teen rolled the ball to hold it against his hip. He surveyed Bridon and pursed his lip thoughtfully for a second.

"Well, I guess we're done for today. You ready to go?" He posed the question casually, as though he hadn't noticed Bridon's worn out state.

The grateful look on the brunette's sweaty face said it all. "Yeah. Thanks." He jogged up to Kyle as the two headed toward the boys' locker room. "How do you keep your energy like that?" he asked the junior with barely concealed awe.

"Practice." Kyle, a little pink, shrugged off the compliment with a roll of his shoulders. "You'll build it up man; it's just endurance."

"Ya know Kyle, I can think of a better way to use that endurance."

* * *

><p>The two teens wrapped up in conversation hadn't even noticed the figure to their left. An annoyed look flashed on Kyle's previously calm features…he didn't have to turn around to know who exactly had spoken those subtly explicit words. There was a confused look on Bridon's face who had a clear view of the stealthy blonde; but still, he was sure Bridon knew who Kenny was, even if he didn't know why he was there. Everyone knew Kenny for some reason or another, famous or infamous…he was sure to be a legend among underclassman by now.<p>

Kyle turned to face his shifty blue-eyed friend tersely, his body language tense with his irritation at Kenny's intrusion. Only a short tuft of shaggy blonde hair was visibly jutting from the raised orange hood of Kenny's parka; he was leaning against a row of lockers, slightly hunched over and arms crossed with one leg straight and the other bent at the knee so that his foot rested against the wall of lockers. Somehow, despite wearing bright orange against the gunmetal grey lockers Kenny managed with blend in easily, though Kyle shouldn't have been surprised…it was a talent Kenny had always seemed to possess and had mastered to a perfected skill. It was a skill that was often put into practice...especially as of late it seemed.

Kenny pushed off the wall with his one foot, strolling toward the two with a tenseness all his own. When he reached the duo he pulled down his hood and crossed his arms again, stance wide and shoulders pulled back; his eyes were slightly narrowed when he looked at Kyle, his expression sour. When his eyes reached the brunette in Kyle's shadow his eyes narrowed further, his expression darkened enough to make the underclassman worried.

"What's up Kenny?" Kyle's greeting was anything but friendly; his words were gritted out through clenched teeth, as though his rude tone was the most polite he was capable of.

"Nothing Kyle, just hanging around," Kenny's words would've been nonchalant had it not been for the etched scowl on his face and the way his arms were crossed against his chest.

An angry retort was forming in Kyle's brain, but he found himself distracted by the noise of a shifting body. A quick glance to the side reminded him of Bridon's presence. The other boy was standing behind Kyle awkwardly, obviously aware and uncomfortable over the tension and intimacy that hung over his and Kenny's heads; he felt his expression soften minutely. For Bridon's sake and his sake only Kyle bit the inside of his cheek and tried to quell the agitated energy that Kenny was bringing to the surface. He turned back to the brunette and spoke as calmly as he could manage.

"Go ahead and hit the lockers dude, I'll wait here," he gave a head jerk in the direction of the locker room.

Bridon looked a little relieved; he quickly nodded and made his exit. Kyle watched as he made his way to the locker room more quickly than he had been on the court. As soon as he was out of sight what little tension had been broken more than doubled.

Kyle waited, muscles still tight and the sports-prompted adrenaline still pumping through him, like an animal debating between fight and flight. Even though he refused to look at Kenny directly he could feel the weight of those blue eyes as they bore holes into his entire frame.

Last night he had been the one ready to kill his friend with the exact same death-laser stare, but once again the tables had turned. The only difference now was that Kyle didn't know why he was receiving any hostility and he was still pissed off with this orange-parka-ed boy. For a moment there was a terse silence and the tension hung so thickly it made the air nearly toxic. Kyle began to wonder who would speak first, but his little ginger head need not have worried; it was, of course, Kenny's unabashed mouth that uttered words first.

"I bet you could use a shower too Kyle," there was a sharp edge to Kenny's voice, "maybe Bridon'll even drop the soap for you."

Kyle's head snapped back to meet Kenny's; if he had been someone else, the ever calculating Cartman maybe or clever Wendy, he might've been aware of the hurt and disappointment that lay hidden under the angry jealousy of Kenny's words, the wounds both of them seemed oblivious to. But he wasn't and he didn't. He might've been, as Kenny had said years ago, "the smartest kid in class" but it was no secret that he was also one of the most volatile. He was far wrapped in the onset of anger-turned-rage to notice such trivial things as other people's feelings or motivations.

"What did you say asshole?" He advanced toward Kenny with one step, one fist clenched by his side while the other tightened helplessly around the basketball pushing into his stomach.

"He is your faggy little boyfriend, isn't he? I gotta hand it to ya Kyle, he's a good catch I guess, kinda girly if you ask me. Didn't think you'd hit 'em young Kyle; what, are they easier to get that way?" The words came out accusingly instead of, what should have been, playful harassment. Kenny's words would have been true to his teasing nature, save for his acidic tone.

He too took a step forward. Always prepared for a knock-down, drag-out fight Kenny's hands fell to his sides and formed into fists.

For once Kyle ended up being the one to initiate close contact; he closed the small space between himself and Kenny, so close that their faces were mere inches from one another and both could feel the hot air of each others' angry breaths.

"What…did…you…say." Kyle's voice came out tight and quiet, as if the fury that was shaking his body had also constricted his vocal chords.

"You didn't tell me."

Whatever Kyle had been expecting Kenny to say, that certainly wasn't it. He pulled his focus back, looking past the red haze of rage to zoom in on Kenny's visage, Kenny's eyes.

It was only a split-second, but he could swear that he saw something there under the anger…no, not anger, hurt. Kenny's expression was contorted enough to look like rage, but swirled within it was the evidence of betrayal and injury, and it was more telling and confusing than anything Kyle could have imagined. He didn't know what to say, his fury now stained with bewilderment.

Kenny was hurt? Kenny was actually hurt by him? Kenny was hurt because he hadn't told him he'd rather fuck Brad Pitt than Angelina Jolie? That's what Kenny was pissed about?

Kenny's words, Kenny's intonations, left no doubt in Kyle's mind to what he was referring to, but that Kenny would be so pissed and hurt because he hadn't come out to his friend made him want to wonder. In the war between confusion and anger, however, anger was easily winning in Kyle's brain. Oh yeah, he had questions all right, but first things first: punch now, ask questions later.

* * *

><p>"Um…"<p>

It might have sounded fairly retarded, but it was the only thing Bridon could think of to say in the current situation. He knew Kyle Broflovski was a hothead, he had heard plenty of stories; but he had not, however, expected to leave the locker room only to be greeted by a scene that would swiftly be concluded by either an intense makeout session or a rather brutal brawl.

The upperclassmen that he had left only a few moments ago were very, very…_very_, close to one another. Kyle had one fist drawn back, ready to land a blow, but his sandy-haired companion also looked ready for attack, head pulled back and teeth bared.

There was something weird about the scene though. Bridon wondered if Kyle was even aware of how his grip on his 'friend's' sweat-shirted chest only served to pull closer…and in a way that did not look aggressive…well…not an angry kind of aggressive anyway.

His little noise of uncertainty may have sounded rather pathetic and stupid when it left his mouth, but it did serve its purpose. Both teenagers stopped scowling at each other and, albeit reluctantly, looked to him instead.

And then came a very uncomfortable moment.

It seemed none of them knew what to do next. Kyle still stood frozen in mid-punch, only with his head now turned; Kenny stood similarly, but now his glare was more intense and directed at him, and here he stood with water dripping from his chicly disheveled hair onto his clean t-shirt, blushing slightly and looking abashedly away from the scene.

Luckily, for him anyway, Kyle soon shook from his stupor and his grip on Kenny; his hand released Kenny's hoodie, leaving a space of crumpled looking fabric in its wake.

Kyle took a step back. He turned again to scowl at Kenny and said, pointedly, "Come on Bridon."

Bridon had to push himself to a near jog to keep up; despite Kyle's shorter legs he was easily outstripping Bridon with his fast stride. A quick glance to the side showed him green eyes narrowed into slits as Kyle glared into the distance and muttered things about "fucking blondes", "fucking bastards", and "hormonal assholes" under his breath. He stayed quiet. It seemed safer that way.

Still, though, Bridon was curious. Then Bridon made the terrible mistake of looking back.

He was concerned about the junior that they had just left, about what his reaction would be. He had turned his head and glanced over his shoulder, eyes sparkling and hair flipping fetchingly, and was graced by an unexpected sight. An unpleasant sight. A downright horrifying sight.

Bridon had expected Kenny to look sad maybe or maybe even to be glaring at Kyle's back the way his redhead friend was glaring into space. Hell, he might have expected Kenny to be pouting provocatively and petulantly. What he did not expect, however, was to be greeted by blue, blue eyes. Staring right back at him. Glaring at him. No, really, _really_, glaring at him; the kind of shameless glare that said in no uncertain or subtle terms _"die, die, die, die you bastard"_. Kenny himself looked as though he was quite ready, and willing, to murder Bridon with his bare hands.

So the infamous Kenny McCormick of odd information and ill-repute hated him.

_Fuuuuuck._

Bridon whipped his head back around. He sighed. This was getting ridiculously over-complicated. He felt bad too. He had met Kyle's closest friends and classmates; Stan, the obvious best friend, usually stopped by practice if football got out early, Cartman, the friend-slash-rival, would come along with Stan, and some oddly sweet kid named Butters somehow ended up at their practices rather often, and he knew Clyde himself from the team. All of them seemed like nice guys, well, except Cartman, but he'd been told early on to just ignore him, to the protest of "Ay! Shuddup Jew-fag!"

Kenny though, Kenny was the mystery.

Kenny was the one who was always there, but Bridon had had yet to meet. He always managed to see blonde hair or folds of the ever-present orange parka out of the corner of his eye. Kenny never bothered them, never came up to introduce himself or announce his presence to Kyle, but he was there at every practice, watching from outside the gym or off in a secluded corner. And then, just like that, he'd disappear. He'd be in the corner of Bridon's eye one moment and out of it the next. He was never there at the end of practice.

The cold, crisp fall air hit his face as they exited the building with a loud _thwack_ against the front doors. He'd always thought Kenny had been rather endearing in his subtleties and silent support, but now...Shit.

_Shit. I've really gotta fix this before it gets worse between them._

"Uh, hey, Kyle?" The redhead seemed completely unaware, and kept striding along. He reached out a hand to grab the shorter one's shoulder. "Kyle!"

Finally Kyle slowed and stopped; he turned and looked at Bridon as if he were shocked to find he was not alone, green eyes wide and shaken out of deep thought. Bridon looked down at his shoes. He shifted awkwardly for a second before finding his voice.

"I'm sorry...about Kenny back there. Look, I really like being friends with you and all...but I really don't wanna cause problems between you and your boyfriend."

Once again Bridon got a response that had most certainly not been expecting. He almost went to cover his face in self-defense before he realized that Kyle's fury-fueled look was not directed at him.

"What? He is not my boyfriend! Kenny Mc-fucking-Cormick is. Not. My. Fucking. Boyfriend! Jesus, why the fuck would you say that?"

"Oh! Uh, sorry. I just thought-it's just the way he's always around and, uh, the way you guys act around...each other...and stuff..." Bridon faltered under Kyle's slightly murderous gaze.

"What do you mean 'the way we act around each other'? Bridon, what do you mean?"

Kyle's interrogative tone, and the way his intense gaze was rather close to his face, gave Bridon no way out. There was absolutely no way, no freaking way, Kyle Broflovski of South Park, Colorado, was going to let him leave without a full, and awkward, explanation.

"Well, you know, you guys just...I don't know; you guys just, uh, like click or something. It's just the way you guys interact and are close all the time. I mean, it's just...Kenny...you don't act the same with Kenny, like you do with Cartman...even when you're pissed off."

Bridon looked away from Kyle's eyes; they were stormy and conflicted...they were full of something all consuming, something that he neither could or should have seen. Those eyes were for Kenny McCormick even if Kyle protested otherwise.

Despite the obvious and contradictory evidence literally staring him in the face Kyle wasn't done trying to convince Bridon, and himself, of his aversion to his grade's token trailer trash.

"Listen to me Bridon. Kenny McCormick and I are not involved. Kenny McCormick and I will never, ever, ever, _ever_, be involved. Never. I would rather fuck Clyde than be involved in any way, shape, or form with Kenny." Kyle's hold on his biceps was turning into a bruising force, he could tell that each of Kyle's slender fingers would be leaving a not-so-elegant impression on his skin by the end of this. And, frankly, it was enough to persuade him to drop the matter rather than confront Kyle on his apparent attraction to his friend.

"Okay Kyle I believe you," he held his hands up high as he was currently allowed, trying to convey his being a non-threat, "Uh, could you let go of me now?"

Kyle looked shaken. "Huh? Oh, sure...sorry." His gaze had turned unfocused, lost in thought. Actually, more than that even, he looked like an odd combination of terrified and slightly aroused. Was there even a word for that? If there was, the conflicted young man in front of him was the prime example of it for sure.

The sound of rubber over pavement rolling to a stop broke the intensity of the situation. At that moment Bridon couldn't have loved Kyle's mom more. He turned and saw her smiling kindly at them from the warmth of the car; she gave a quick double-honk of the horn and motioned them over. Relief washed over Bridon like a tidal wave, thank-fucking-God that this nightmarish, painfully, awkward day was coming to an end.

The next time he got invited to join something that involved upperclassmen he was going to make like McGruff and "just say no".

While the spell of the moment had been ripped to reality with Mrs. Broflovski's appearance, Kyle was still deep in trance. As Bridon adjusted his backpack and made his way to the sliding door of the minivan Kyle stood rooted in place, staring at the ground helplessly.

"Uh, Kyle...? Your mom's here." The upperclassman did finally look up, shaking his head and gracing Bridon with a falsely carefree smile. The redhead walked past Bridon and ruffled the brunette's drying hair in a halfhearted semi-headlock as he made his way to the car, pulling open the door with some force as he hopped in.

"Kyle, don't open the door like that! Hello Bridon, how was your day?" Mrs. Broflovski's eyes, just as intent as her son's, were staring at Bridon as the slight teen climbed into the car. Bridon looked to his friend for help, but the other had already surreptitiously slipped on a pair of earbuds and was playing a pocket-concealed mp3player. At what he knew was the desperate look in his own eyes Kyle smirked rather knowingly. He was leaving Bridon to the mercy of his mom's interrogation, or what she considered "polite conversation", taking the opportunity of his presence there to escape it himself. Son of a bitch. Would this day ever end?

Sheila Broflovski was looking at him, still waiting for a response. Her laser vision seemed to be stuck on 'stun', 'all the better to grill you with, my dear,'; and she apparently wasn't going to start driving until he at least started to answer her.

"Oh, it was okay, I guess." He said as the car began to pull away from the curb.

"Oh that's no answer Bridon; now, tell me all about it."

He mentally sighed. This was going to be a long car trip. He took a look to his left; Kyle's eyes were closed as he nodded his head to the beat of some song. Friend or not, next time he saw Kenny McCormick he was going to leave Kyle to him on a freaking silver platter.

* * *

><p>Kenny stopped when he heard Kyle's voice ringing out, carried to his ears by the cold mountain air. He frowned; he had hoped to catch Kyle alone and unawares outside of the school, but it seemed that that little fucktard Bridon was still with him.<p>

Though at the moment that might've been for the best...He wasn't sure at the moment if he wanted to punch Kyle in the face or push him against a wall and have his way with him. Both were extremely tempting in their own right.

"...will never, ever, ever, _ever_, be involved. Never. I would rather fuck Clyde than be involved in any way, shape, or form with Kenny."

Kyle would rather fuck Clyde than him? Now Kyle was going beyond mean, now he was just being an asshole.

More words wrapped around the brick corner to meet his ears. "Okay Kyle I believe you. Uh, could you let go of me now?"

Fucking little asshole was touching his Kyle. _His_ Kyle. Feral little growls were forming in the back of his throat as jealousy caught his stomach in a strangle-hold. He wanted to punch something...and someone...very badly right now.

He kept his fists clenched as he listened to the last wafts of the conversation, Mrs. Broflovski's voice finally joined the choir before they were all drowned out and carried away by the sound of a running car. He was glad they were finally gone. He had come close to running out and carrying Kyle off himself, carrying him away from what he was sure was the evil influence of Bridon Gueermo. Close to carrying off what was rightfully his goddammit...if only Kyle would goddamn listen to him!

He kicked the red wall as hard as he could. His toes would be killing him later, but it was worth it...until he heard the sound of someone scoffing behind him.

"God Kenny, you're never going to get him to like you like that!"

Kenny whipped around to see Wendy Testaburger watching him with a frown a few feet away, hand on hips. It would figure that, even in the secluded side of the school where smokers went to hide, of all days and moments she would come to this hidden spot by the side exit door. When the fuck had she gotten there anyway?

The blonde pulled down his hood and glared at her through his shaggy hair; it was a glare that would put fear into the heart of any woman, man, child, anyone in the world...

…anyone in the world other than Wendy Tesaburger at least.

Brown eyes went from frowning to glaring right back at him and for a split-second, _though Stan is still a pussy-whipped bitch_, he could understand why his tall, football-playing friend would be scared of this short, slight, raven-haired fireball.

Intimidation having failed, it looked like Kenny was going to have to talk to Wendy in order to make her go away. "Whadda you want Wendy?"

Wendy rolled her eyes at his ill-mannered words. Instead of responding she walked up to him and started poking Kenny in the chest rather hard and pointedly and then spoke.

"Kyle's never going to like you if you act like that Kenny. You need to just talk to him. If you keep fighting with him and groping him you're never going to get anywhere! God, why are boys so stupid about these things?"

Kenny glared hard. Had it been Kyle or Stan in this situation they might have felt embarrassed by Wendy's powers of keen observation, but, luckily for Kenny, he was not either one of them and embarrassing Kenny McCormick could not be done. At least not by astute observations into his feelings and motivations. Fuck no, he wouldn't be embarrassed or cowed by Wendy Testaburger.

Kenny batted her finger away. He crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes back at her, feigning nonchalance and inner calm like a pro. "The fuck are you talking about? Certain time of the month Wends?"

Few dared speak to Wendy like Kenny did. Usually he wasn't this bad, but he knew pissing her off was probably the quickest route to her disappearance, and he would take that opportunity gladly. Besides that, her mannerisms were reminding him of someone he didn't want to think about right now; every time she talked her face was becoming superimposed with fiery green eyes and tight red curls and it pissed him off even more that she was here and not him.

Wendy's face was contorted, like a bull who had just seen a bright red flag. She seemed to be biting her tongue though; apparently she had already guess Kenny's ruse and was refusing to give in to such tactics.

_Damn, I underestimated this bitch. Jesus, no fucking wonder Stan never wins an argument. _

"...seven, eight, nine, ten." Wendy whispered it so quietly to herself that Kenny almost didn't hear her; he smirked to himself, at least he was getting under her skin anyway.

Wendy's chest swelled out as she heaved a deep breath. Having retracted her claws and quelled her violent urges she looked up at Kenny rather solemnly and pointed up at his face as she spoke.

"Look Kenny, you want Kyle and I think Kyle wants you too. You can be a real dick Kenny, but I also know you're a nice guy, somewhere deep down there. But if you keep acting like this, Kyle's never going to want to be with you, ever. You're both being complete jackasses about this whole thing, but I like Kyle and I like you and you've both spent the last few months making each other completely miserable! Kyle is not going to respond to being sexually harassed and you know it. Suck it up and tell him how much you like him before you drive him away forever Kenny. You'll regret it if you don't."

"Wow Wendy, you know what?" Kenny's voice was soft and high with shock, "That might be the most fucking fag-tastic thing I have ever heard anyone ever say. Ever. Alright, so maybe I wanna fuck Kyle. That's it Wendy, don't get your faggy little girl feelings mixed up with that," the haughty blonde jeered.

Scarlet once again colored Wendy's complexion. Her fists were clenched at her sides. "Dammit Kenny! Stop being such an idiot! You can deny it all you want, but that won't make it go away. And if you don't do something soon you're gonna lose him to someone else!"

Kenny snorted. Tired and irritated with Wendy and the conversation he pulled his hood back up and drew it tightly together. With his hands in his pockets he turned to leave, looking back as he did so to casually call out, "Wends, I don't give a shit about that feelings bullcrap. Kyle can _date_ whoever the fuck he wants to," he ignored the coiling in his gut, "I want one thing and one thing only," knowing that she could hear every word despite the muffling effect of his hood.

As Kenny walked away he felt superior; he had shut her up _and thank fucking God. If I had to hear her whine for one more fucking second_...and then Kenny's thoughts were interrupted.

Interrupted by a shrill, feminine, familiar voice calling to him from some distance.

"If you only want Kyle for sex Kenny, then how come, for the first time since I got them, you didn't stare at my breasts once the entire time we were talking?"

Kenny paused for the briefest of seconds before continuing on, now even more eager to put distance between himself and Wendy.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

She was right. The goddamn, pushy, know-it-all, pain in the ass was right. He hadn't stared at her tits the entire time they were talking. He could tell himself it was because it was Stan's girlfriend, or because she was being fucking annoying-as-shit, or because he was still pissed off at Kyle...but he knew, as well as she did, that none of those things had ever stopped him before.

The shitty truth of the matter was that Wendy had hit the nail on the head, or the head he wanted to nail...or something. He didn't want Kyle to date anyone else. He didn't want Kyle just for sex and his the pain in his gut wasn't just because of sexual frustration. He wanted his friend in a more needy way than sexual release and a one-night stand. He wanted his friend, wanted to devour and consume him in his entirety. And that was a very new feeling to him. And a not all together non-terrifying one.

He wanted to get home...and quick. There was a cold shower and a handful of cigarettes and his mom's vodka with his name on it.

* * *

><p>In spite of her mass irritation at the retreating orange-clad figure in front of her Wendy's eyes were soft with disquieted concern. She could only hope that one of them would wise up before they grew to hate each other. God, boys were such idiots.<p>

"Wendy! Where were you? I went to catch you, but Butters said you'd already left. Why're you out here? Wendy...are you okay?"

Wendy turned and met Stan's chocolate brown eyes, filled with concern of their own, concern over her. She smiled sincerely at him, "Yeah, I'm fine. The student council got out a little early, so I thought I'd meet you at your practice. I thought I saw Bebe go out the side door, but I guess I was wrong." She brushed off his worries with a shrug; if Kenny wanted to talk to Stan then he'd do it himself...it'd serve the stubborn jackass right to suffer a little longer.

Stan turned in the direction Kenny had left and seemed to catch the last glimpse of bright orange against the greenery and dimming sky of a Colorado fall.

"Uh-huh," he raised an eyebrow and shook his head, "Sure you weren't getting involved? You, know, like you said you wouldn't? Like you refused to do?"

Wendy blushed and crossed her arms, raising her head indignantly in vain at having been caught. Stan just chuckled slightly and softly at his girlfriend's embarrassment, years of friendship with both Kyle and Wendy had taught him to enjoy the rare moment in which either's sense of righteousness could be called into question. He was merciful though, at least with Wendy, and let it go at that.

"You must be cold," he gestured to her thin sweater, "here, take my jacket."

Stan slipped his heavy varsity football coat off his shoulders and wrapped it around his girlfriend, her petite body swallowed up by the excess material, exposing himself to the cold in his t-shirt. Wendy felt warm, and not just from the body heat provided by Stan's jacket; she was lucky and she knew it.

"Come on, I'll walk you home." Stan pulled her to his side and they started to walk, away from the school and into their own little happy world.

Wendy was damn lucky. Her boyfriend was sweet and wonderful and not an idiot, okay, well sometimes he was an idiot, but not usually. She stopped him and gave him a quick kiss on her tip-toes. "I love you Stan."

"I love you too Wendy," Stan said, slightly taken aback by the uncharacteristic public display of affection.

Wendy smiled and placed her feet fully on the ground, now pulling him along behind her. "I love you Stan, but your friends are idiots...and I'm going to make sure they get together even if I have to make them myself." She muttered it under her breath as her boyfriend trotted behind her, his wrist now in her not-so-sweet iron grip.

"What'd you say Wendy?" Stan questioned curiously.

"Nothing," Wendy replied with innocent sweetness before muttering, "...at least nothing yet."

"What?"

"Nothing, Stan, nothing...boys."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Oh shame on you boys...just admit your feelings already and fuck like everyone wants you to! Sorry, more action coming soon...super sudden changes in movies, stories, etc., are just a big ole pet peeve of mine so I'm trying to make it kinda more realistic anyway (as realistic as this story will get anyway). But soon! Soon more will happen, like the stuff I know you're waiting for ;) See ya soon! Please review!<strong>


	7. Everyone Loves Raymond Nobody Loves Stan

**AN: Wooo, sorry it took longer to get this chap out than anticipated...school's a bitch, and college transfer applications do not help at all. Btw, yeah, school work got totally ignored today in favor of reading and writing this :-p Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter (and all of the others), it really makes my day and it's helpful to know at least some of you are still enjoying the story so that I know I'm not screwing it up too badly. Enjoy!**

**I don't own SP**

* * *

><p><em>"Everybody says it's just like Robin Hood <em>

_I move like a rat, talk like a cat, sting like a bee _

_Babe I'm gonna be your man_

_ And it's plain to see you were meant for me, _

_Yeah I'm your toy, your twentieth century boy" - 20th Century Boy, Placebo_

Was is going to snow?

The sky overhead was dark and murky, the moon and stars concealed by low-lying clouds. Stan's breath hung above him as he craned his neck up to look; it was only mid-November and already thirty-two degrees, it didn't bode well for his hopes of a snow-free football field.

_Great. Just in time for Homecoming._ He frowned.

The leash in his hand jerked to and fro slightly as Sparky sniffed at the lamppost base beside him. Stan's gloveless hands were beginning to become chapped from the cold; he gave a little shiver.

"Come on Sparky, just pick damn spot and piss already," he jerked the leash in hand as he whined to the old dog. "It's fucking cold out."

Sparky gave Stan a lazy "ruff", but didn't stop his sniffing, momentarily more interested in the smells of previously passing dogs than in pleasing his owner. Rather suddenly though the old mutt picked up his head and let out several excited, joyous barks, pulling slightly on his lead.

"Sparky, stop barking," With a groan and numb hands Stan jerked on the leash, but the dog's attention was elsewhere; Sparky's tongue lolled out as he panted expectantly. Stan squinted past his dark bangs into the distance, but was blinded by the glow from overhead. He tried raising a hand above his eyes and finally caught sight of the shadowed figure moving towards him.

"Oh, hey Kenny. Skip today?" the usually parka-ed, and occasionally truant, boy was for once wearing a coat, one so old that it must have originally belonged to his father, but his face and shaggy head of hair were unmistakable.

Stan was greeted not by Kenny's voice, but instead by a rather hard punch to his arm.

"Ow! What was that for?" Stan quickly switched the leash to his over hand, allowing him to shake his now dead arm.

"Fuh luun ditta uh?"

Kenny was speaking so quickly that for the first time in as long as he could remember Stan had no idea what Kenny was saying.

"What?"

"Fuh luun diita uh!" Kenny sounded just as garbled, now only more irritable.

"Ken, I still can't hear you."

The blonde forcefully pulled down the scarf covering his mouth with a gloved hand. "Goddammit Stan, 'How long did you know?'!"

"Oooh," understanding dawned on Stan's face, "Know what?"

Kenny was gritting his teeth, looking like he wanted to slap the answer out of Stan, he continued through a clenched jaw, "How long did you know about Kyle?"

"Know what?" Stan frowned at Kenny at his accusatory tone, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't fuck with me Stan, I'm not in the fucking mood for it." Kenny pointed a finger at Stan like a threat.

"Kenny," Stan barked; he brought himself to his full height and pulled his shoulders back. The next words he spoke were slow and deliberate. "Kenny. I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about. What do you wanna know about Kyle?"

"You knew Kyle was gay didn't you? You knew it and you didn't tell me! You both didn't! How long did you know Stan?" Kenny was jabbing his finger into his friend's chest as he spoke, a lifetime of friendship rendering Stan's power of intimidation rather powerless.

Stan's body slackened slightly; he fell back and looked down to Sparky, who had returned to sniffing happily and lazily at the lamppost. He jiggled the leash absentmindedly as it twitched at Sparky's movement. His eyes flickered down as he calmly picked at imaginary jacket lint. Only a few seconds had passed in real time, but each one came and went by in agonizing eternity. Even if he didn't really owe it to Kenny, he'd have to tell him something. Stan knew he couldn't stall forever...though it was an appealing idea given his options. Either Kenny would be pissed off, and given his actions lately, wouldn't quit bothering him about it until he caved or he would tell Kenny something, anything, and Kyle would bitch and give him the cold shoulder for anywhere from a few days to a few weeks...or either one might attempt to settle the problem with a good old-fashioned beat down.

Stan wished he didn't have a leash in his hand; he really, _really _wanted to rub his temples right now.

"Why do you think I know what you're talking about?" Though his tone was calm and nonchalant it did nothing to soothe Kenny's obvious wounds.

"Don't give me that fucking bullshit Stan! You goddamn know what I'm talking about!"

Stan sighed. Kenny was quick to get pissed over things he had invested interest in, always had been, but the guy was obviously close to his breaking point. Whatever exactly was going on between him and Kyle, the possibilities of which were too terrifying to contemplate, Kenny had definitely used his day "off" from school to stew over the matter. Despite his initial curiosity South Park High's resident quarterback wished that he really was too oblivious to notice anything wrong between his two friends.

_Maybe I can get out of this easy._ He could hope so at least.

"Kenny-"

"Don't fuck with me Stan. I mean it."

Or maybe this would be a little more difficult.

Kenny's tone was enough to stop Stan. Kenny may have been doing everything the wrong way, but it was clear how badly he needed answers. Knowing Kyle as well as he did Stan could guess just how equally stubborn and obnoxious Kyle was being with whatever was going on between the redhead and the blonde. So now Kenny had apparently been reduced to this, a voice that both promised a threat to their long friendship and a plea based on that friendship.

_Fuck. Kyle's gonna be a bitch later...too bad it's his own damn fault...not that he'd fucking admit it. Goddamn super best friends._

"Thirteen."

"What?" Whether Kenny was surprised by the word was hard to say, maybe he hadn't been expecting an answer at all.

"I've known since we were thirteen Ken."

"What? Man, are you fucking kidding me?" The shock and desperation that had briefly allayed Kenny's anger had lost their effect; the blonde haired boy looked fairly pissed again...at least if the way he was gripping the sleeves of his coat under his crossed arms were any indication.

With a small sigh Stan rolled his shoulders. The air felt even colder now and his hands were already raw and red; he sensed a long conversation that he didn't want to have. He had to wonder how much of this was his beloved, meddling girlfriend's fault.

"Can we at least finish this inside dude? My fingers are falling off and my fucking feet are numb."

Kenny didn't answer but gave a stiff nod in reply. Stan gave a jerk on the leash and Sparky stood from where the had been laying on the cold concrete, as if the old mutt had gotten bored with the mundane existence of teenagers and their dramas. The trio took off, looking from a distance like some oddly comical troupe. Stan and Sparky led the way, owner half trudging, half limping out of a stressed sort of resolve and numbed toes and dog waddling behind slowly with age. Kenny remained a few feet behind him, marching behind the leaders with an awkward stiffness that was decidedly the antithesis of Kenny's normal cocky sauntering steps. The only sounds that emanated from them as they walked were the those of their shoes slapping against the sidewalk and the jingle of Sparky's dog tags against the leash.

The walk back to the Marsh house only took two and half minutes, but it seemed to go by far too short and far too long. Despite Kenny's demand for information both teenagers seemed ill-at-ease with what the divulging of such secrets would entail. Stan's hand struggled to turn the door knob, he felt nearly sure that even the blood in his hand had been frozen solid; finally, however, the door creaked open under his ministrations and closed with a loud click after Kenny entered his humble abode. Kenny, who was normally at ease enough with the Marsh residence to let himself in unannounced, seemed too agitated to do anything useful. Stan bent to unhook Sparky from his lead and hung it on a hook by the door. Freed from the parameters of his leash and owner Sparky trotted up the stairs with renewed vigor, now leading the way for the two awkward teens who now obediently followed the mutt.

By the time Stan and Kenny had reached the threshold of Stan's bedroom Sparky had already acquired a comfortable spot on Stan's pillows. When the two boys entered the room the dog let out an over dramatic "woof" and laid his head down, looking more hangdog than one might have thought possible, especially for a mutt as idiotically happy as Sparky normally was.

"Sorry Sparky, no treats," Stan reprimanded as he closed the door, already aware of the dog's tricks, but gave him an affectionate rub on the head as he passed, assuaging the dog's keening whine of response.

With hands now burning as they warmed up to the room Stan pulled off his cold jacket and draped it on the back of a desk chair, which he promptly decided to drop himself onto.

"Sit Ken."

For the first time Stan realized just how badly Kenny reeked of smoke; it was nearly enough to gag him. He was tempted to spray his deodorant through the room just to cover the smell, but something told him that Kenny was testy enough to take offense to the gesture and frankly, despite probably being able to take Kenny down, he really didn't feel like getting into a fight that would get him A) grounded for life by his mom and B) destroy half his stuff.

Kenny stood immobile against the back of the bedroom door, hands jammed deep in jeans' pockets, as if it was his first time in the room and not his, at least, millionth time there. Mechanically the sinewy blonde moved to Stan's bed and slowly sat down, bent over his widespread legs with his forearms resting on his knees.

Cue awkward silence.

"So..." Stan prompted.

"So." Kenny responded.

Cue even awkwarder silence. Despite the freezing temperatures outside and the closed window Stan could almost swear he actually heard crickets.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Okay, so no crickets, but Kenny's jittery toe-tapping seemed to fill the sentiment just as nicely.

Stan watched Kenny expectantly, waiting for the boy who had previously been so eager to wring the information from Stan physically and violently to begin the conversation, but the blonde haired one remained silent, staring down past the carpet and into space.

Stan could only stare at his friend as he tried to work the problem out in his head. _What the fuck is going on? I mean, no one told Kenny...but come on! There is no fucking way he is this surprised. So what's the big fucking deal?...did Kenny wanna hear all the details or something? Aw, sick man! Can't let brain go there...don't want to be scarred for life...but that would make sense...kinda...I mean, it's Kenny, right? And they give me shit about Wendy? Jesus fucking Christ this is fucked up beyond belief._

"Stan," Kenny paused as he whipped out a small cardboard box with shaking hands.

"Dude! You can't smoke in here, my mom will fucking kill both of us!" Stan looked at the cigarette in Kenny's hand with no small degree of surprise and horror, as if its mere presence would act like a siren alerting his mother of its existence in her home.

"I fucking know that Stan!" Kenny snapped. "I'm not going to fucking light it alright?" He placed the cigarette in his mouth and held it between clenched lips. He started playing with the pack, obviously worn from much handling despite it nearly being full. This was definitely not Kenny's first cigarette of the day...or night.

Stan raised an eyebrow. "Fuck Kenny, how many have you smoked today?"

"Suddenly interested in my welfare Stan? What're you now, my mom?" The reply came out as a sneer, filled with an irritated bitterness. "So, how the fuck did you know about Kyle? What, he confessed his gay love for you or something?"

Kenny's words were bitten out at Stan. Actually, Stan was pretty sure that if Kenny was an animal he would've been bitten already or mauled to death. Whatever had started Kenny's anger it had now all been turned on Stan and if Stan didn't know any better, and thank God he did know better, he'd say Kenny sounded like Wendy during one of her sporadic fits of insecure jealousy...the kind of fit that usually meant Wendy accusing him of something he not only hadn't done but had no knowledge of.

Hmm...actually this was exactly like that.

"What? No! God, why does every one think Kyle and I are gay for each other?" It wasn't the first time he'd heard such a comment, but Stan still swallowed a little to keep the bile in his throat down; he had no problem with Kyle being gay, but...yeah, sex with his best friend-slash-brother from another mother made his dinner want to revisit his mouth for a round two.

Normally Kenny would have remarked that it was because they actually were gay for one another, but tonight his attention had been diverted. Tonight, Kenny instead looked surprised and eager; he leaned toward Stan now and studied him with rapt attention, searching his face to confirm Stan's assertion as truth.

"How did you know then?" The question was one of skepticism and persistence. Now Kenny's seriousness was official, Kenny lack of expletives made Stan certain.

Though he really wished Kenny would act more like his usual disinterested self; he started to feel heat creep up his neck as he mulled over his next words.

"Uh, well, I kinda...walked in on him." The red heat crept from his neck to his face as he mumbled the last words.

"What?"

"I said, 'I walked in on him'." God his face was burning now. Stan squirmed a little in his seat.

"Walked in on him doing what?" Kenny kept pushing, "Watching gay porn? Jerking off? Singing show-tunes? What Stan?"

Kenny was leaning past his knees toward Stan, impatiently awaiting the answer. Stan spoke about his ginger-haired friend gingerly, as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"I walked in on him..."

"Yeah..." A blue eye twitched beneath a blond eyebrow.

"I walked in on him making out with a dude." He cringed as he completed the thought. Ugh, not a memory he had ever wanted to relive. There was a reason he and Kyle had agreed to forget it'd ever happened.

"What? When? Who?" That last part seemed to be of the utmost importance to the still eye-twitching blonde; he was tearing the cigarette pack into nearly infinitesimal pieces.

"When we were thirteen. You know when Kyle was studying for his Bar Mitzvah? You know how his mom made him study with that other kid? And they studied, like, all the time? They didn't just study the Torah...Aw man, now I can see it in my head again! Don't look at me like that Ken, you don't know what I saw! There were hands places and oh God I never want to see that much of Kyle ever again!" Stan shivered at the thought. Stan was so caught up in trying to erase the image of his best friend's half-naked self that it took him a few seconds to realize that something was off. When he finally opened his eyes he came to discover what exactly that thing was.

Unsurprisingly that thing turned out to be Kenny.

Apparently very literally.

Kenny's eyes were staring hard at a spot on the wall, but Stan had a feeling it was rather at something that wasn't there. Either that or Kenny was pondering something very deep about that John Elway poster. He had a feeling it wasn't that.

Stan stared at Kenny the way his blonde friend was staring at the wall, trying to somehow see through bone and brain to the gears of the thought machine in Kenny's mind. In the case of Stan Marsh, however, he seemed to get the same results as if he had been staring at a wooden door behind a brick wall behind steel reinforcements inside of a titanium lined vault. While Stan was deep in his thoughts, pressing his own ineffectual empathic gears to the max Kenny's own mind had already milled the next step in the equation.

"So," The teen's voice came out composed and monotonous as he spoke around his cigarette. "Has Kyle gone out with anyone?"

A crease formed on Stan's forehead as he furrowed his brow. "I dunno dude. I don't think so. Wait, why?"

Stan's question was answered with another. "Has he fucked anybody?" Kenny's voice was decidedly calm; he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and began to roll it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Aw Kenny! Come on! I don't wanna to know if he's fucked anyone. Jesus dude, why the hell would you ask that? Wait, no, I don't wanna know. ...Are you okay Ken?"

Kenny, who had still been staring at someplace beyond Stan's four walls with a clenched jaw, stood. "Fine." He wrapped the scarf around the bottom half of his face as he threw it over his shoulder. A small white tip fell from Kenny's hand as he moved.

"Holy shit, is that from your cigarette? You sure you're okay dude?" Stan looked incredulously at the filter that now lay on his carpet.

The only answer Stan received was the sound of his door. While the raven-haired football player had been looking at the evidence of Kenny's inner workings the skilled delinquent had vacated the cloistered realm of Stan's room. Kenny's skilled abilities in making a quick escape were in full swing tonight; as soon as Stan processed the sound of his bedroom door it echoed again. No sooner had Stan moved to his window than he saw the outline of his friend's body illuminated by the glow of his houselights and then suddenly vanish in the darkness of the trees.

_How the hell does he do that?_ Stan shook his head; he would never understand how Kenny was able to move so quickly and silently when the guy was frequently the most vocal pervert and bum in South Park High School.

Kenny's silhouette long gone Stan staggered over to his bed and fell back on it. Two large fingers rose on either side of his head to rub at his temples. He hadn't been sure how much he had wanted to know before and now was no different. He wasn't sure if knowing more about what was going on between Kenny and Kyle would scar him for life or help them solve whatever the fuck the problem was. It really wasn't helping that everyone else seemed to have a better idea than him...and no one was going to let him in on the big secret, Kyle and Kenny included. Even Wendy had refused to tell him what she knew...although for some reason Kenny seemed to now be a "girl" in her mind, thus creating a sort of secret pact that allowed her to keep all information passed between her and Kenny from her boyfriend's prying curiosity and not-so-subtle pleading.

He could always ask Cartman...No. No, Cartman may have been otherwise preoccupied lately with obtaining a car or whatever other scheme he'd been wise enough to keep him out of, but asking Cartman would probably make matters worse not better. Even more so in the case of Kyle.

Shit. The same Kyle who would almost certainly soon find out that he had shared the little story of his first, incredibly awkward, gay experience with someone else. Not only someone else, but someone else who he seemed ready to spontaneously strangle as of late.

_Aw fuck. _He was going to have to pull out a lot of "super best friend" cards out for this one and that would still involve Kyle bitching for days, if not weeks. _Nice going Marsh. Just jump in the hole next time, save the time digging._ Maybe he'd be lucky and everything would work itself out now, he wouldn't have to get more involved in a ever increasingly confusing situation, and everyone could go back to being normal and not completely pissed off.

Yeah, and maybe Cartman would stop calling Kyle "Jew" or "fag" and he would be crowned valedictorian and Kenny would commit to celibacy.

A cold nose pressed into his neck. "At least you don't have problems Sparky," he sighed. The dog panted and gave a sloppy lick in the affirmative. As Stan wiped the slobber from his skin a familiar scent wafted up to his nose, one he thought had left with his blonde friend.

Stan looked down to his right to see the comforter was littered with shredded bits of roasted tobacco leaves; a look over the side of the bed confirmed that the carpet below had received a similar treatment. For a second a brief concern came to mind that, call him crazy, maybe, just maybe, Kenny wasn't as alright as he had claimed. This brief concern was quickly overlaid by the realization that if his mom smelt the odor of tobacco in his room before he could clean it he was going to be on the receiving end of a rather painful punishment.

"Goddammit Kenny." With an aggravated sigh Stan rose to retrieve the vacuum; he had cleaning to do...and friends to not think about.

* * *

><p>On Friday November 18th, at approximately 11:30 AM, one day before the football homecoming game and six days before the most amazing, awesomest day of feasting and propagandized gluttony, also known as Thanksgiving, Eric Cartman was greeted by a rather amusing sight as he entered the cafeteria: Butters trying to take control of a situation.<p>

Butters fucking-rainbows-and-puppies Stotch trying to force Jewfag and Po' boy to stop being douchebags and actually say two words to each other.

On one side of the table sat Kyle, arms crossed and hat tightly jammed down on his head as though he had recently tugged rather hard on the ear flaps. On the other side sat Kenny, one leg over each side of the hard bench seats and looking away at a wall clock while fiddling with the pack of cigarettes concealed in the front pocket of his parka, badly pretending that Butter's words had fallen on deaf ears. Butters, meanwhile, was seated no more than a foot away from Kenny, leaning alternately toward the taller blonde and the redhead across the table while his arms and hands continued to flail and gesticulate frenziedly.

And every time Butters began to berate one of the teens the other boy would watch surreptitiously. Eric snorted.

Alright, it had been funny, and he'd gotten more than his share of laughs out of the past few months, but this was just getting pathetic. Well, more pathetic. More pathetic than usual for Jewfag and Po' boy anyway.

And it was time someone actually did something about it.

He was goddamn tired of everyone pussy-footing around those two like...well, pussies. So they were being all angsty and tormented by their gay little _feelings. _He rolled his eyes; _boo-freaking-hoo. _Normally this would've only created more amusement for him, but the two had become so wrapped up in their own stupidity and it was taking their attention away from some very important people.

Himself, namely.

It wasn't that he wanted in on their fagtastic action, _holy barfing crap no, _but he did want his friends back. Kyle was hardly any fun to argue with anymore, flying from physical rage to cold indifference and obliviousness without his usual antagonistic charm. And Kenny with balls bluer than the deep blue sea? 'nuff said. However fucked up his interpretations of friendship might have been Eric Cartman valued his friends...in his own way...and he was getting extremely irritated with being ignored more than per usual. He seemed to have lost all ability to piss any of them off enough to garner their attention and that was pissing him off. Big time. Fuck, no one had even ragged on him when his "new" car turned out to be a used minivan. The soccer-mom kind.

Unlike all of the idiots that surrounded him Eric Cartman knew completely well what was going on between his Jewish and poor friends; he had from the beginning. Obviously some kind of challenge had spurred Kenny onto the idea of conquering Kyle, and said conquest, despite so obviously wanting to participate in crazed monkey sex with their blonde companion, was such a stubborn fucking mule that he couldn't possibly let that happen, so he refused. And then, since they were both such idiots, they continued to push, on Kenny's side, and be wishy-washy, Jewfag, and both bitches seemed a whole fucking lot of sand in their vaginae.

Oh yes, he was as astute as Mr. Pussy-whipped was oblivious to the current state of affairs. And as he strode toward the table it became even clearer just how much everyone else was in the dark.

"-on long enough. Come on fellas, you've been friends for forever and it's just stupid if you two are too bull-headed to stop fighting with each other and just be friends again."

"Shut up Butters. These stupid assholes were dumbasses before and they'll stay dumbasses afterward; doesn't matter if they fight or not." A pair of blue eyes and a pair of green stopped glaring in opposite directions to glare up at him. Neither one said a word though. Dear God it was worse than he'd thought. They needed to fuck the sand out of their vaginae and fast.

"Eric, I don't think that's helping," Butters turned to frown at him as he took a seat on Kyle's side of the table. "They just need to remember that they were friends before this. Everyone's tired of them fighting. Especially me and Stan."

"This isn't _Barney_ Butters. Let the two little bitches bitch it out if they want to. That's how it is with their kind. Oh, well, I guess you'd know that too, huh Butters?" He tossed a chip into his mouth.

Butters' face began to flush from his cool remark. But Butters wasn't the only one; Kyle's cheeks had begun to color with anger, as Eric had anticipated, but Kenny was the one who looked uncharacteristically more pissed at the comment. It was mildly surprising, but very amusing.

"Lay off Butters fatass," Kenny all but snarled.

"Oh, I'm sorry Kenny, I didn't realize Butters was your butt-buddy of the week. I didn't mean to insult your girlfriend," he said with mock sincerity.

"Stop it Eric! You know that's not true and you don't need to make things worse. And I don't need anyone to stick up for me. Since you can't stop all being assholes I'm going to sit with people who don't feel like acting like total douchebags." With that Butters stood and marched over to the table occupied by Craig's gang, taking a seat on Tweek's vacant side.

Eric just rolled his eyes as the blonde settled down into his new seat. "Jesus, what a freaking pussy. Right?"

The question was met with silence; Kenny and Kyle both sat with bodies angled slightly away from the table, glaring into the distance as if to prove their indifference toward each other by putting all of their energy into a concerted effort to ignore the other. How fucking pathetic was that?

And more than their pathetic-ness, what the fuck?

"Hey assholes, what the fuck am I? Thin air?" He waited, and waited...and waited...and still Kyle said nothing.

_Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me_.

"Hey! Stop ignoring me, ass-!"

"I'm going for a smoke," Kenny muttered rather loudly to no one, standing and giving a head jerk to someone across the room. At his own table Craig stood and, slightly, less rudely excused himself as well. The two teens made their way to the doors together in silence.

Irritation nearing a peak Eric turned back to his one remaining target, "Goddammit Jew, you-!"

"I'm going to the library." In much the same manner as their blonde friend had departed Kyle stood and gathered his backpack and books, his eyes never raising up to meet Eric's as he made his solemn exit to the hall.

Now alone and seething, with no one to take it out one, Eric Cartman hissed out angry breaths between clenched teeth. Those goddamn fucking fags! Idiotic douchebags, every single one of them! Oh yeah, shit was going to go down and it was going to go down hard. He was going to resolve this and he was going to do it Eric Cartman style; may God have mercy on their everlasting souls.

The next few minutes were spent in contemplative, albeit vengeful, silence. With crossed arms and a sharp frown Eric debated whether to seek revenge or help his friends...or seek revenge through "helping" his friends. He was completely unaware just how many outsiders would have viewed his three separate tactics as being nearly the same in his case. In was in this state that Stan Marsh found him as he stumbled into the cafeteria panting and looking up at the wall clock.

"Oh man, sorry I'm late guys," he called out as he hurried toward the table unseeingly. "Wendy wanted to talk to me about stuff and then Coach grabbed me, oh yeah, Cartman, we've got a double practice today for homecoming," he looked down as he sat and rummaged through his bag to pull out his lunch and looked back up at the wall clock. "Damn, only twenty minutes left. Hey Kyle, can you look at my math for me? I asked Wendy, but...hey, where is everyone?"

Eric shot Stan a glowering look, but said nothing. Stan turned his attention to his singularly present friend. "Dude, Cartman, where is everyone?"

The only reply Stan received was an irritable, "Fuck off Stan," as Eric shoved away from the table and stood to leave. Hoisting his bag onto his back he made his way toward the hallway doors with a furrowed brow. He looked down at his watch; he had plans to make and less than twenty-four hours to formulate and set them into motion. He had some diabolical planning to do and he needed either solitude or help to do it; somehow he doubted Stan would be willing or able to do the latter.

The only thing he heard as closed his distance to the doors was a baffled question.

"What did I do?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And the tension continues to build! Don't worry people, it'll break real soon, I swear to god I'm not going to beat the dead horse any longer than I already have. Hopefully I'll have the new chap out soon, but I forewarn that school is a bitch, big time. I hope you're enjoying the story, I love feedback!<strong>


	8. Alcohol: Just Don't Do It

**AN: Holy crap, an update? Sorry guys :( I know I've been terrible lately with updates on this baby, but it will not die I promise! Even if nobody's reading by the end I'm determined both to finish this and to not do it in a slap-dash, 'I just wanna be done with it' way. Still I'm really sorry it's taken so long, part of it was school/life stuff going on, and part of it was the evil being known as writer's block...the worst part was I knew where it was going, but couldn't get the words to come out right. **

**Also, I haven't been thanking you guys (readers, reviewers, and all those who fave or alert) nearly enough! So thank you, thank you, thank you! I'll try to be much better in the future about individually thanking all of you! Also, I got a very lovely reviewer from someone anonymous lately so thanks to that person since I can't message it to you personally! But really, all of you are so wonderful to even read this thing and I hope you like it.**

**Side note: in the chap Kenny's speech is not filled with typo's, it's intentional (you'll understand).**

**Also, I don't own SP or its characters.**

**Sorry for the length of this note, I hope you enjoy it guys!**

* * *

><p>"Craig, I'm gonna fuck this up." Kenny was staring down at his hands, shaking his head as he repeated for the umpteenth his protest.<p>

"Come on McCormick. It's not that hard. You must've experimented before," Craig Tucker rolled his eyes, yet again, at the blond.

"Fuck you!" Kenny spat, then stared away awkwardly, "I have, just...not with anyone else, ya know?" his face flushed slightly as he mumbled his confession.

"First this...then that...then that one towards the end. Oh, and this in an emergency, in case he really freaks out or something."

"Is that normal?" Kenny had one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Craig just shrugged nonchalantly. "Probably only if he sees blood. Shouldn't happen if it all goes right, but shit happens sometimes, especially with newbies."

"Why the fuck am I doing this again?" the towheaded boy asked as he looked down at the transparent orange bottles in hand.

"Because if you don't Tweek'll freak out and then I'll have to kill you," Craig stated plainly as he jammed his football helmet onto his head.

Kenny snorted. "I could just leave ya know."

"Then I'll have to hunt you down and kill you Kenny," Craig deadpanned with a look that said "and you know I'll do it too".

"Yeah, whatever dude," Kenny rolled his eyes and dropped the cigarette from his mouth, crushing it beneath his foot. The football player copied his motion and the two began to walk toward the field from the secluded spot where they had been enjoying one last smoke before Craig took to the field. "Why do ya have Tweek's pills anyway? Why doesn't he have them?"

"He's afraid he'll mix them up and there'll be some terrible reaction and he'll die or go into a coma or something," Craig shrugged as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Ah, makes sense," Kenny nodded. _Tweek sense anyway._

The duo continued their brief walk in silence, the mutual understanding of their pact as semi-badasses hindering their speech in favor of their cool strides toward the stands full of overexcited classmates, parents, and townspeople who apparently had nothing better to do than watch a small town homecoming game.

When they reached the field Kenny gave a jerk of his head to Craig, the nonverbal implicit "See you later my friend. I hope that you do well in this game you are about to play. I will be watching and cheering you on with my silent support. And have no fear, for I will complete the other task that you have given me, for I respect our friendship and your requests." To which Craig nodded, his own nonverbal communication stating "Thank you my friend. I am grateful both for your support and for your assistance in watching over those dear to me. I have trust that you will fulfill the task I have assigned you faithfully and fully, for you are my friend and I trust you with my life," and then Craig raised one finger to his buddy, adding a nonverbal, "Oh, yeah, and by the way? Fuck you."

Kenny gave a growl of sorts, but Craig was already trotting over to benches, where his other teammates were waiting for him. Obviously late, Kenny watched as Stan began to berate the other raven-haired boy, who flipped the team captain off and seemed to mutter something rather offensive, because although Craig's mouth had only been open for a few seconds Stan's face had flushed with anger and even with the distance between them he thought he could hear Stan yelling something about the incompatibility of Craig and respect.

As amusing as it was Kenny didn't stay to watch whether or not a physical confrontation would break out between the two testosterone driven teens. He knew that this whole thing was old hat; whenever tension ran high Stan and Craig came close to blows, and this game would be no exception. He climbed up the aluminum benches to where Tweek and Clyde already sat, the clang of his heavy steps against the light metal drowned out by the crowd. Sure enough, by the time he sat down next to the twitching blond with hair wild enough to match his own Craig and Stan were being mildly restrained by Token and Cartman respectively, though each was released when their coach made his way over, arms raised and waving as he yelled at the two players, red in the face.

The brief moment of excitement over Kenny turned his attention back to the empty field with a sigh. God damn this shit was boring. He could think of so many things he'd rather be doing, just about anything really, but here he was, stuck for the duration of the damn game because he'd promised his friend he'd take care of his friend...boyfriend...whatever the hell Tweek was to Craig.

Well, he could tell himself that anyway. Though when Craig had asked, or demanded rather, that Kenny do this favor of sorts for him it had taken a lot less convincing that it normally would have, or should have for that matter.

"_Kenny, watch Tweek at the game for me."_

_A snort. "Why should I?"_

"_Because I said so." A flip of Craig's middle finger._

"_Tell Clyde to do it asshole."_

"_Yeah, like I'd trust Clyde to do that." Craig's voice dripped with as much sarcasm as his apathetic nature would allow. There was a pause as they both dragged on their cigarettes. "I'd tell Kyle to do it, but your friend's a little bitch. Especially since he'll be there with that faggy little Mary-Sue teammate of his."_

_Kenny became suddenly aware of how dry his mouth was, and how acrid the smoke he held in had become. He exhaled with distaste. Pride refused him to cave easily; there was a pause as he pretended to think of his conditions. "Fine. But you owe me two packs of cigarettes," he finally grumbled out._

_Craig only snorted and nodded. He took a deep inhale and a painfully slow exhale on the cigarette in hand. "You're too easy McCormick." He regarded his blue-eyed friend in appraisal._

_Words of question and denial formed in his brain, but seemed unable to exit his mouth. Kenny was forced to settle for a displeased grunt, bringing a sufficient end to their haggling._

Kenny sighed as he watched his two companions for the game; Clyde was whining on about the cold and his boredom and how hungry he was...and Tweek remained twitching by his side, apparently growing more anxious the more Clyde complained and the closer it came to the start of the game. Though it could have been worse, he supposed; he had to hand it to Craig, he had countered every one of Tweek's fears as best as he could have predicted: they sat halfway up from the bottom, safe from flying projectiles and players, but close enough to the bottom in case of a needed evacuation, they sat at the end of a bench with Kenny on the outside so as to protect his nerve-racked charge from being jostled by other viewers, and Tweek had been supplied with an extra coat and blanket by Craig to stave off any potential hypothermia. The only thing Kenny had to watch out for was the possibility of a Tweek freak-out caused either by harm to Craig or Clyde's big freaking mouth, which developed a tendency to over exaggerate when bitching.

It was a simple task. Or rather, it would have been a simple task had Kenny not noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

Bright orange-red hair.

The curls were exposed as their owner briefly removed his familiar green cap only to readjust it and pull it back down over his wild tendrils. Pale cheeks were colored pink in the cold air, his mouth wide open in carefree laughter, green eyes sparkling with mirth... it was something he had seen so many times before...so why was seeing Kyle's face causing such a virulent storm of nausea to erupt in his stomach? It was oddly pleasant in its own right...though not as pleasant as the light thrill it also sent right below his stomach. He let the feeling settle over him...

...until he recognized the dark-haired boy next to the object of his attention, brown hair exposed as Kyle playfully yanked off the other's cap. The feeling turned sour, and Kenny let out a hiss of distaste. The heat of his stare must have been well felt, because it seemed that no sooner had he begun imagining a very painful demise for the sophomore in question than he was staring into a pair of vibrant green irises and piercing black pupils.

Kyle's stare met his. For a moment surprise flashed on Kyle's face and then, rather pointedly, turned blank; the ginger turned around and crossed his arms, chin pointed and jaw clenched superfluously.

It took Kenny quite a bit of effort not to scream in frustration and march down the bleachers to literally shake some sense into his slight friend. Instead he settled for seething in relative silence, baring his gritted teeth to Kyle's back while he glared and hissed out angry breaths. Below him he watched as Bridon spoke to Kyle with a furrowed brow and the latter shook his head, stubbornly dismissing whatever the other had said. Bridon peered up curiously only to meet Kenny's rage. Despite the anger threatening to strangle him Kenny did manage to find some enjoyment in the way the younger teen paled and turn around just as quickly.

"Hey! Guys, why'd you ditch me? Hey guys-!" Clyde's voice whined out as he noticed his fellow teammates.

Without care for the surprised yelp let out by Tweek, Kenny reached over and pulled Clyde by the collar so that their faces were less than a foot from one another.

"Invite them over here Clyde and I swear to God you'll be like Tweek when I'm through with you." Clyde swallowed. "...No offense Tweek," he managed to amend himself; the last thing he needed was a fight with Craig after this.

"-Er-None taken." The awkward reply came close by his side, where the other blond was trying to lean as far away as possible from the two who were practically in his lap.

Convinced by Clyde's silence that the message had been received Kenny let go of the coat he was tightly gripping, allowing the other to sit back down and Tweek to sit forward as he settled himself as well. There was a moment of terse relative silence amongst the trio, an anomaly against the background of cheering high school football fanatics and loudmouthed announcers, broken up only by the reflexive noises of anxiety that continued to echo from Tweek's twitching mouth.

There was a sudden cheer. Stan had scored a touchdown...or Craig...or something.

To be honest Kenny really wasn't watching the game or listening to the crowd around him swell with applause, no, he was spending his time doing something much more constructive...bearing holes into the heads of a brunet and redhead with an intensity that screamed "Look at me dammit! Look at me!"

Unfortunately Kenny's tactic wasn't really doing him much good. Kyle still refused to look at him and the sophomore beside him wasn't stupid enough to take his chances looking back again, but Kenny was sure that Kyle could tell he was watching him; Kyle's shoulders kept rolling and shifting as if to shake off a physical presence, the way Kyle tended to do when he was stressed and irritated.

Stare.

A roll of the shoulders.

Stare.

An uncomfortable shifting in his seat.

Stare.

An angry little twitch of sorts.

Stare.

The sexy little fucker still wouldn't turn around!

Kenny scowled at Kyle's head with a kind of white-hot intensity that was even beginning to make himself feel rather prickly with discomfort. It was an odd combination of irritation, anger, hurt, frustration, and want, and it was doing all kinds of things to Kenny's psychosomatic wiring.

His hands were clammy, clenching with a burning desire to wind themselves around the wool of Kyle's heavy winter coat. He could practically feel the scratchy material against his fingertips instead of the worn fleece encompassing them. The weight of Kyle's smaller body against his own was nearly tangible, churning his stomach and forcing him to concentrate on not squirming in his seat. It was only a conscious effort at restraint that was keeping him from leaping up, stalking down those bleacher bench seats, dragging Kyle up and off to some undisclosed location, and...

...and the worst part was that he still had no idea if he'd kiss the guy or sock him in the jaw.

And even Kenny doubted that either one of those things would really make the current situation with Kyle any better. Despite what Stan or Butters or Cartman might've thought he really did want to be in Kyle's good graces...he just didn't know what else he wanted...and it really wasn't helping that every time he saw Kyle he lost what little sense of respect he'd ever had for the guy's "personal bubble".

But it wasn't his fault dammit!

If fucking Kyle had just fucking given into the fucking bet or gone along with the fucking joke or...something.

But had he really expected Kyle to in the first place? Had he really wanted Kyle to?

His fingers absentmindedly sought out a cigarette from his pocket and played with it with gloved fingers.

When had it gone from enjoying Kyle's horrified reaction to half-entertaining the idea of prospect of actual sex? When had it gone from that to some kind of competition, a battle of the strongest willed? And when the fuck had it gone from that to wanting something more and yet less with his ginger friend? Why did he want Kyle's attention so badly? Why was it pissing him off that Kyle was pissed off? Why couldn't he just ignore it and ditch him until the asshole had cooled off? Why did he want to drag that now-laughing sophomore away somewhere to firmly imprint an everlasting understanding deep into the kid's brain that Kyle was _his_?

The cigarette paper finally burst under his hot-tempered fingertips, sending hundreds of tiny brown specks within his hand and over his clothing.

That was another thing. He kept losing perfectly good cigarettes because of Kyle.

Something new came along to capture his attention and cause him further aggravation.

What the hell was that annoying as all get-out beeping noise?

And why the hell wouldn't it stop?

And what was shaking against his arm like a friggin' earthquake?

Kenny scowled to his left.

And then stopped.

He pulled out his phone from a pocket, where, met with no barrier from the air, an even more obnoxiously loud tinny, electronic ring shouted like a warning siren.

Aw shit.

It only took Kenny a second after he looked back over at the barely contained Tweek to meet the gaze, or glare, of Craig, staring back from the sidelines of the field, cell phone in hand, like he was fully prepared to make good on his earlier promise. Some blood had stained his jersey. A player from the other team was being led, hobbling, off the field, a long gash on his leg.

And now his un-admittable obsession over the object of his desires was going to get his ass kicked.

Well this day was just going fucking peachy, wasn't it?

* * *

><p>It was a miracle they all managed to walk to the party together without anyone coming to blows.<p>

Though that was most likely because none of them dared to open their mouths on the way there.

Kenny was leading the way, slightly ruffled and rumpled, supposedly after small altercation with Craig. Stan was the buffer between himself and Kenny, walking in the middle and not even bothering to really look at either of them. Kyle himself walked behind them both with Bridon sort of at his side, quietly following the trio of juniors in the sort of respectful silence that younger boys paid older boys if they didn't want to get their asses kicked.

Even though Kyle was in the rear of the group he was pretty certain that both of his friends were wearing the same deep frown, or glare, that he was. Kenny's would be more of the pissed off kind that had become a constant as of late, something like his own, Stan's would be more likely the kind born out of frustration and confusion at the idiocy of his two friends and the incomprehension he himself was victim to. Kyle didn't have to guess at Bridon's expression, he'd seen it himself already.

The sophomore was wearing a look of slight discomfort; the kind that he undoubtedly felt as an underclassmen going to a party in the woods that would be almost exclusively reserved for upperclassmen, save for the few underclassmen who had been personally invited or brought along like he had.

Kyle had insisted that his friend join them, despite the initial protests given. He'd convinced his friend to go, telling him about how much fun it would be and how he'd prefer to have him there and how a lot of the other guys from the basketball team would be there.

All of those things were at least sort of true. At the very least he and Clyde would be there, that counted even if no one else from the team showed. And these parties could be fun every once in a while...though since his worry and diabetes kept him from really overindulging he spent most of the party watching out for and making fun of the drunks. He really did want Bridon there too.

He just wasn't sure why it had sweetened the deal that it seemed to rankle Kenny even more than he had thought possible. It served the bastard right after all, what the hell had he been doing staring at the back of his head for the whole freaking game anyway?

And yet, despite the glowering joy he felt in his vindictiveness, there was an annoying feeling settled somewhere between his chest and gut. It was something like,...guilt maybe, or anticipation. He shoved the thought away and buried the feeling. He didn't want to think about it. Not now, and hopefully not ever.

The sounds of the beginnings of what would prove to be a raucous obligatory post-homecoming-game-excuse-for-a-party party were starting to grow in their ears as they entered the clearing in the woods by Stark's Pond.

It was kind of an unwritten rule in their neck of the woods, so to speak: as long as the teenagers did it away from the completely obvious view of their parents, in the woods, a barn, whatever, the party would never be busted up. Never mind whatever horrible acts of debauchery or Satanic rituals or animal sacrifices might be going on there.

It probably helped that their parents had all done the same things themselves...and still did actually.

Or maybe it was just that in South Park those things had a way of happening even in broad daylight. One or the other.

But for some reason the idea didn't really upset his moralist side that night. Maybe the blond-haired, be-parka-ed boy up front's, who he was refusing to acknowledge, resigned brand of trailer-trash cynicism was wearing off on him.

For a brief moment he truly wished that they were on better terms again; he felt like tapping the taller one on the shoulder and getting his opinion.

Damn it. God, Moses, Jesus, Mohammed, and whoever else might be up there did he wish he could afford to get as trashed as the rest of his classmates were going to. He was giving himself a headache. Oh fuck his diabetes, maybe he'd just do it anyway. How bad could a dangerously high spike and drop in blood sugar and potential coma and death really be anyway?

Oh God. Now Kenny really was rubbing off on him.

He felt a headache coming on.

Kyle idly wondered if this was how Stan felt when he and Wendy were fighting.

He chose to ignore what he himself had just implied about his relationship with his blond friend.

It was no good. His head was swimming, his brain teeming with wave upon wave of conflicting thoughts and emotions crashing into each other and riding over one another. At this rate Kyle Broflovski gave his sanity the life expectancy of another week. Tops.

Finally, just past a grouping of pine trees, the evidence of a party scene came to light.

Someone had managed to get a healthy fire going, surrounded by a circle of rocks that would prove to be little protection against the ambitions of drunken teenagers. Several camping lanterns, oil and electrical, had been set up around the half-assed perimeter of the party, shedding enough dim light from each one to add up to a half-lit space within the clearing they had taken over.

Music was playing loudly from a pair of portable mp3 speakers set on a large rock, the cold air carried the noise easily to the ears of the boys just joining the foray. It was some song Kyle didn't know, some of the most recent pop-schlock that some guy had probably put on for his girlfriend or some girl he was trying to hook up with tonight. He rolled his eyes.

There were only a few others here right now, maybe seven or eight, but more were quickly entering the party scene. Pickup trucks full of shouting teens pulled up as close as they could to the clearing, ignoring the illegality of their off-road excursion. Throngs of boys and girls on foot began to fill in through the trees, chatting and laughing as the true party atmosphere came to life. There were a lot of people here Kyle had never met before. He scowled. It didn't really surprise him, parties like this tended to end up extending to several other high schools in other towns, but it still irritated him.

Alcohol was appearing at every corner; everything ranging from kegs bought by someone's older brother to half-filled bottles of vodka swiped from some parent's liquor cabinet flashed into view all about them. Beer and bright red Solo cups were becoming an extension of almost every set of hands.

The three juniors and one sophomore stood for a moment as the party stirred to life. Kenny, unsurprisingly, was the first to bolt from the group, but it was, oddly enough, without the usual vigor he presented in these kind of situations.

Kenny, hood down, muttered something like, "Catch you guys later," before heading off in the direction of the fire and a large cooler filled with glass bottles. As he left and a ray of light struck his face Kyle could see the bruise beginning to form on his cheek.

So he and Craig really had had it out?

_Well...good. Serves him right..._

So why was it twisting his stomach with guilt? And why did he feel some responsibility even though it couldn't have been his fault?

"Stan! Stan!"

A loud voice called the remaining trio's attention to a raven-haired beauty standing a little ways off, waving one hand with the other cupped around her mouth.

Stan looked back briefly with a sort of a twist of his neck and mouth in question at Kyle. Kyle nodded and Stan nodded back, taking off in the direction of his waiting girlfriend with a "See you guys later."

Kyle was actually a little surprised; he knew Stan was getting pretty pissed at both himself and Kenny, but his friend was still asking permission to go spend time with his girlfriend.

Maybe Stan had given up on his friends and decided to let the two of them deal with whatever it was on their own and ignore the whole thing. Maybe Stan understood more than he thought and he hadn't given his best friend enough credit.

Kyle almost grimaced. Maybe he owed Stan an apology of sorts.

Red eyebrows knit together as their owner fought off the desire to rub at his temples. His head was really starting to hurt from everything going on.

Meanwhile, Bridon stood awkwardly at his side, uncomfortable with either breaking Kyle out of his thoughts or moving about the crowd of strangers and upperclassmen on his own. Reminding himself of his friend's presence Kyle turned to look at the sophomore only to have his attention called away again.

"Hey, Kyle, Bridon, over here!"

A rather cheerful looking Butters was motioning for the pair to come over, standing next to Clyde and Token, who were gathered about fifty feet opposite from the fire pit, with a few other faces Kyle didn't recognize, idly chatting. Whether it was because Butters had genuinely forgiven him or because the guy couldn't hold a grudge to save his life he didn't know, but Kyle wasn't about to question it. He was questioning too many things lately, thinking about too many things he didn't want to think about and, even if it was a seemingly minor thing, he wasn't about to add one more thing to the list.

Kyle looked to send a quick look to Bridon to indicate he should follow and to his surprise found it apparently unnecessary, as the sophomore had already taken a hesitant step forward, slightly unsure but readying to leave Kyle behind. With a quirked eyebrow that went unnoticed, and uncharacteristic silence, Kyle stepped forward and led the way, saving Bridon from maneuvering that awkward process on his own.

The party introductions were the same ones given at every party: silent head nods at those you knew, exchanges and perhaps hand shakes with those whose new names you wouldn't remember in a few hours, and just enough pleasantries to sustain sufficient noise levels long enough for someone to get alcohol within their system or to find someone you actually wanted to talk to.

And that, as _everyone_ learns by their second week into college, is when the real party begins.

Ah yes, alcohol, the demonic little mistress that shed inhibitions and made bad ideas seem really, _really_ good. The substance that gave the devil on your shoulder permission to choke the angel on the other side and whisper things like, _"Sure, go for it. Now's a great time!" "Don't worry, we can always blame it on being drunk later anyway!" "Well, he/she always was a douche bag/bitch, now would be a good time to tell them as much." "Eh, he/she never really liked that priceless vase/phone/carpet/car anyway!"_

And the kind of drunken shenanigans that would take place that night and many others would be remembered with a slightly embarrassed cringe a decade later by all those involved; at a time when the dramas of high school seemed rather petty and insignificant and they looked back on their present selves as children rather than the young 'adults' they thought they were now.

Unfortunately though, the future of fond, and not so fond, recollection and reminiscence was far away. Tonight there would be teenage, alcohol-fueled dramatics.

Loads of it.

* * *

><p>If there had been announcers and a play-by-play of the party's events it would have been hard to tell who really started it. Certainly it was rather poor judgment on Kenny's part to be two beer and three large mixed drinks, made with ungodly ratios of booze to soda, in when he was harboring some seriously bad thoughts...but it was pretty stupidly petty of Kyle to, when he kept glancing over at the increasingly intoxicated Kenny, make extra sure to enjoy himself in the company of his friends, namely Bridon.<p>

And then, as one of Kenny's favorite crass sayings went, "Shit happens when you party naked."

Only in this case it was more of an addendum. "...and shit _really_ happens when you're pissed, infatuated, and drunk as a skunk."

Really it boiled down to a pissing match of one-ups man's ship. Kenny, after the first beer, would glance at Kyle, who in turn, would stare back and too quickly turn to laugh heartily at something Clyde or Token or Butters had said, no matter how unfunny it was. By the end of the first mixed drink and Kenny's journey from tipsy to drunk Kenny had begun actively staring at Kyle who, Kenny was nearly certain Kyle had already been looking at him, would glare at being 'caught' by the drunken blond and, Kenny was sure it was only when he was looking, would place a 'friendly' hand every so often on Bridon's arm or shoulder in a purposeful way; though had Kenny not been inebriated he might have realized that Bridon's glance at the hand was not reciprocated enjoyment, but a look of startled slight discomfort.

He almost might have noticed that way Butters was frowning at himself, Kyle, and Kyle's hand.

It was at the end of the fateful third mixed drink and the popped cap off the third beer where the night took a dramatic turn.

Kenny had steadily progressed through the past hour and a half from slightly obsessive glances to an less than subtle alternating leer and glare, as though he could not decide how he felt about his redheaded friend in his drunken state of mind. As Kenny stumbled uneasily from foot to foot, Craig sipped his beer beside him and chose to watch over Tweek instead of the more inebriated blond; decidedly letting his friend suffer the consequences of his wasted endeavors.

Through the haze of alcohol Kenny seemed to finally process that Kyle was finally looking back at him, but glaring rather heavily in his direction. As Kenny made up his mind slowly to glare back, he watched as Kyle kept his unsteady gaze and, with meaning laced throughout every bit of the gesture, slung an arm about Bridon's shoulders and pulled the boy slightly closer to himself.

And that was what really did it in the end.

Now had it been Stan nothing would have happened. Hell, even if it had been just about anyone else at the party Kenny probably wouldn't have reacted so poorly. But, however distantly Kyle chose to acknowledge his awareness of the matter, both Kyle and Kenny knew exactly which raw nerve Kyle was choosing to stab at when he decided to touch Bridon so intimately. It was intentional provocation.

And Kenny, mind utterly numbed with booze and jealousy, decided he really didn't give a fuck about the consequences right then.

The intense, or what would have been had Kenny been able to keep his gaze steady, battle of glares lasted for a moment or two, before Kyle looked away in affected disgust to turn back to a conversation he was only half-invested in. And then suddenly, with Kenny glaring at Kyle's capped head in boiling shock and anger, Kyle murmured something to his friends and walked off into the crowding of trees beyond the party sight.

Craig said and did nothing when Kenny slurred out some excuse or explanation and stalked in a haphazard manner after the other, forgetfully dropping his beer on the ground and letting the bottle's contents seep onto the frozen earth.

The poor blond didn't even hear the conversation echoing behind him as he stumbled away.

"Er, Craig, shouldn't we stop him? He's going to do something really, really, stupid. You know he is." Tweek looked to the football player with only the barest of twitches, anxiety alleviated by drink and his present company.

"Nope." Craig took a sip of his beer and continued in notoriously nasal apathy. "Payback's a bitch."

* * *

><p>Needless to say, Kyle wasn't surprised one iota when an unsteady percussion of procession echoed behind him, signaled by the random crunches of sticks, pine needles and frozen leaves and the occasional drunken slur of a curse.<p>

No, he wasn't at all surprised that his lust-filled 'friend' had followed him, but that sure as hell wasn't going to stop him from acting like it when he whirled on the inebriated blond that plagued his dreams and nightmares.

The redhead stopped dead in his tracks and turned swiftly, fists curled in his coat pockets and a snarl on his lips.

"What the fuck are you doing Kenny?"

Though his words had come out only slightly louder than normal his throat felt scratchy and dry, as though he had shouted them.

Despite that Kenny's path was several steps behind his own, it was evident from the swear on his lips, and the way he nearly fell over himself after halting, that he had been on an accidental collision course with Kyle in his staggering state.

"I said, 'What the fuck are you _doing_ Kenny?'"

He was angry, he was tired, he was frustrated. There were too many mixed emotions floating inside his head, and the party atmosphere wasn't helping.

For all of the anger, the contempt, the pre-emptive betrayal, there was still a damning little flutter in his chest and gut, and the knowledge was nauseating all on its own.

Kenny, bent over slightly with a gloved hand against a tree for balance, looked up at Kyle as he rose. There was a glare of his own etched in those deceivingly angelic features: anger and hurt twisted and magnified by the taint of alcohol and resentment.

"I could ask ya same thing, _Kyle_."

In spite of a pronounced slur Kenny's words carried over clearly to Kyle's ears as the other boy straightened upright. The battle of the glares began.

A heavy, straight glare met an intense but slightly wavering one. Kyle's focused glower was a thick mask of ire: brows deep-set, teeth bared in an ugly sneer, and vivid eyes flashing.

Kenny's stare was different; a constant flickering of bitter resentment and hurt, eyes and face flashing with raw emotion in a way so rarely seen on the teen's visage. Dirty-blond hair, freed from their normal confines, shook and flew with Kenny's movement and a slight breeze. The young man stood lean and tall and proud as moonlight danced through the treeline and cast pale beams on him.

An unpleasantly pleasant warmth flooded Kyle's stomach and trailed down his body.

With an inward curse and a flush of embarrassment Kyle realized that no matter how inappropriate, no matter how ill-advised, apparently neither his mind or his body could fail to recognize how attractive Kenny was, even as an intoxicated jackass.

He wanted to scream, but he knew, with a sense of foreboding, that there were only two options right now: fight, and probably end up in close bodily contact with Kenny for one reason or another, or flight, and look like a dramatic bitch, no matter how justified it might be.

Fear of himself and his feelings won. He chose to get the fuck of out dodge.

"Whatever Kenny," he scoffed with as much malevolence as he could force out, "talk to me when you're not acting like a piece of shit trailer-trash red-neck hick."

It was a low blow and he knew it; he didn't care.

Shoulders hunched to ward off a chill he did not feel, Kyle turned, fists still curled in his pockets, hoping to make a quick getaway.

He could just walk around for a bit, come back when Kenny had forgotten or passed out in a drunken stupor. He would come back and grab Bridon and apologize to the sophomore for ditching him and walk him home. Bridon would be alright in the meantime; he'd been pretty engaged in his conversation with Butters when Kyle had left them.

The heavy, stalking footsteps that followed swiftly after Kyle's own were thwarting his plans.

"No, really Kyle, what the motherfuckin' fuck _are_ ya doin'?"

A large, hard hand gripped painfully tight on Kyle's shoulder, stopping him and pushing him around.

"Get off me dickhead!" He snarled, but didn't dare risk further contact by touching the offending hand with his own; he tried ineffectually to shrug it off.

Kenny pushed a little harder and Kyle's back hit the rough surface of an evergreen tree. The redhead hissed out a wince, but the blond either didn't notice or didn't care. Kenny's other forbidding hand grabbed forcefully at Kyle's other shoulder, keeping him effectively pinned to the tree. There was still the length of Kenny's long arms between the rest of their bodies, but if Kyle wanted to shove Kenny off he was going to have to use the weight and strength of his own body against Kenny's, and he didn't like the idea of invoking such close proximity to his predictably unpredictable friend.

"Why Kyle? Ya knew I was gonna follow didn't ya? Ya knew! Ya knew I 's watchin' ya and ya were watchin' me too! Hey Kyle, how fuckin' disappointed would've ya been if I didn't follow ya? Huh?" Kenny's words were spat out with contempt; a low blow of his own.

"Just get off me Kenny," Kyle's voice was hoarse and his words softer. He couldn't look at Kenny in the eye, couldn't admit how the words were hitting too close to home, too true for comfort.

"No Kyle! Tell me, if ya wan' me ta stay 'way so bad, why the fuck do ya keep doin' this shit? The fuck ya keep doin' stuff just 'cause ya know I'm gonna see it? And why the _fuck_ is it that Bridon fuckward? The fuck is so fuckin' special 'bout the fuckin' fuck? Fuck!"

"Stop it Kenny. Just shut the fuck up, alright?" The volume of Kyle's voice was rising again, ire quickly raising to match a level close to Kenny's own; but Kenny wasn't listening, his slurred rant continuing without pause.

"Why Kyle, huh? Yer s'posed ta be with me! I know ya want ta! If, if ya didn', ya woulda done somethin' 'bout it long time ago! Goddammit, yer _mine_ Kyle!"

Acid dripped from Kyle's mind to his gut and rose like bile in his throat. Kenny was completely fucked up out of his mind, and yet, he had seen so much more of Kyle than Kyle had ever wanted him to. Kenny not only wanted in his pants, not only prodded him, pushed him, but could see beyond his teasing and harassment that Kyle genuinely held at least some degree of attraction too. Kenny-fucking-McCormick could see something in Kyle that even Kyle himself didn't want to see, refused to see.

The realization was utterly terrifying. Terrifying and enraging.

Kyle opened his mouth to shout profanities right back at Kenny's twisted features. He wanted to tell the lanky blond just where he could shove his drunken eloquence; shove him off, let him fall on his ass, and walk away, walk away from Kenny and everything he represented.

Before Kyle could get even a single word out he was silenced by a pair of hot demanding lips on his own.

Kenny's mouth was on top of his, unyielding and harsh, lips wet and slightly chapped against Kyle's smooth own. Fingertips and hands were digging into Kyle's bony shoulders hard enough to bruise. A slick tongue glided into the redhead's open mouth and licked at his own tongue and teeth. Almost immediately Kenny's body moved up against Kyle's, pushing him firmly against the tree as he pushed a leg between Kyle's thighs.

An autonomic gasp formed in Kyle's throat and was swallowed in Kenny's mouth.

The drunken, sloppy blond seemed to take Kyle's stupor and surprised gasp as good signs. Kenny's hands started to ease on their forceful hold and moved down to Kyle's waist, pulling their hips close enough to touch in intimate affection.

Ironically it that genuinely sweet moment in Kenny's rather twisted attempt at romance that seemed to finally push Kyle into action.

* * *

><p>Before Kenny could even process what had happened he found his ass on the cold, frozen ground with a harsh throbbing in his jaw. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up with the progression of events.<p>

Kyle had shoved full force on his chest. Kyle had looked ready to kill him. Kyle had swung and hit him hard in the jaw. Kenny had fallen back, hard.

So now, with a smarting ass and a swimming head, the trailer-trash blond was looking up into the face of one very pissed off Jew. He could have sworn the fires of Hell were actually dancing in Kyle's eyes.

Kenny didn't move and neither did Kyle. Kyle glared down at Kenny. Kenny dizzily looked up

at Kyle. The recent flurry of movement had the blond looking a little green and the redhead seemed to be choking on something in a way that made his whole body shake.

And then Kyle looked away, dropped his gaze to the side and marched toward the lively party scene out of view. He passed Kenny without so much as a glance down.

Kyle's steps were still audible in the blond's ears when he quickly rolled to his knees and vomited up a good amount of what had been partially to blame for his reckless lack of inhibitions. After several productive heaves, and a few painful dry ones for good measure, the blond teen fell away and back to the ground, scooting a few feet away from the sight of his sickness with a groan.

Had he been a little less drunk Kenny might have taken the time to analyze his actions and just how badly he had royally fucked up just then. Maybe he would've gone home to sulk or mull the situation over before figuring out the "Kyle situation". He might have even sought out Cartman or Craig, and made sure to avoid the super best friend no doubt willing to avenge his buddy, for sympathetic, or antagonistic to Kyle anyway, companionship. But no, Kenny was still too intoxicated and miserable to seek anything out other than physical comfort.

And physical comfort, at that moment, entailed lying on his back on the cold, frozen ground, staring up at the moonlight illuminated tree branches and patches of sky above, deliriously watching the stars as they twinkled mockingly overhead.

"Fuck ya," he slurred to them, uncaring of how stupid it sounded. "What the fuck are ya so happy 'bout anyway?"

The sky didn't answer the fog-headed teen. It continued on twinkling above. Kenny shut his eyes from the view.

The rapid loss of alcohol from his stomach was bringing back sobriety at an alarming rate, and he didn't want to see their condescending sparks when he started to realize just what he had done.

* * *

><p><strong>Drama, drama! Thanks for reading the chap and I hope you enjoyed it! Update should come sooner than last time! (I also love reviews if you would like to give one, good or bad!) See ya soon!<strong>


	9. LaserPointed Karma

**AN: Okay, I owe you guys a serious apology, I know it's been waaay too long since I last updated :( Part of it has been block/performance anxiety and part of it has been new school/moving, but I should have updated much sooner than this. You guys have all been amazing readers/reviewers everyone who's been reading this and reviewing it and faving it and alerting it. I'm really glad so many of you have liked it so far and I hope you keep enjoying it. So, not gonna lie, I'm always terrified of disappointing you guys, so I hope I don't do that with this chapter, but I'd love to know if I do.**

**Also, would you guys prefer shorter chapters (6-10 pgs in Word) as opposed to longer ones (15-18 pgs in Word) if it means they're more likely to be written/published sooner?**

**I don't own SP, I do own this story though and I owe a lot of thanks to everyone here. I apologize for the informality of this, but I wanted to thank everyone who reviewed the last chap:**

**Thank you!- Aku-Hitokiri-Kitsune, plentynothing, .rawr, Genesis Galilea, Amberr-chan, Sunshine-aki, Jana-Z95, Hubajoob, "Feedback", "Your biggest fan from Finland" (which is awesome btw!)...and I apologize to anyone I've missed who's been faving or alerting as well, b/c I really appreciate that too!**

**Okay, so here goes nothing guys. I sincerely hope you enjoy this next chap and I appreciate all reviews :)**

* * *

><p><em>"You're no good for me,<em>

_Baby you're no good for me_

_You're no good for me_

_But baby I want you_

_I want..."_

_-Lana Del Ray "Diet Mountain Dew"_

This was a moment that called for questioning, a time that called for reflection and internal dialogue. It was a time that begged for a break from the outside world to meditate on the inner.

Kyle, however, was in no mood for analyzing. He was in no mood for thinking of any kind. Still his brain persisted.

His heart was pounding so hard it rang in his ears, his breath was choked in tiny bursts within his stopped-up throat, but his brain still insisted on churning out questions, answers, muddled emotions, signals of every heightened sensation in his keyed-up body as he stomped back to the cleared area where the party raged on.

His whole body burned. The scorched impressions of fingertips lingered on his shoulders where bruises were forming, and on his hips where he imagined he could still feel the remnants of Kenny's thumbs pressing just above his hip bones, and Kenny's own protruding bones digging into him. On his tongue was the sour taste of booze, a barely familiar experience now etched unfavorably in his sensational memory. And the thoughts just wouldn't stop.

"_yer mine" "ya were watchin' me too" "Ya knew!" "why do ya keep doin' this shit?" "how _fuckin'_ disappointed would've ya been if I hadn't followed ya?" "Huh, Kyle?" "_Huh_, Kyle?" "Huh, _Kyle_?"_

_Huh, Kyle? Kyle? Really Kyle, really, didn't you _want_ it to happen? What did you _think_ would happen, huh? Are you sure this wasn't all some fantasy concocted by your incredibly fucked-up mind? _

In his mind's eye a scowling, mocking version of himself taunted him with Kenny's words and his own self-doubts. Had he wanted it to happen? No...no, of course not!...maybe...no...not like that? He didn't really want it right? No...maybe...he didn't know...

He didn't know and his head was pounding. He couldn't breathe.

Kyle stopped and threw his back against a tree and banged his head against the rough bark hard enough to sending dark starbursts dancing across his eyes. When his vision cleared he saw the empty space before him again; the darkened trees and ground illuminated by moon and starlight. His throat was completely, painfully, swollen shut. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and the convoluted mess of emotions enveloping him swallowed him whole.

"God fucking dammit, son of bitch!" There was no reply to his directionless curse.

He kicked his heel against the solid form behind him and half-slid down the tree trunk to sit on the frozen ground. Gloved fingers flew to run through his curls, seeking to vent his frustration; when they were stopped by the edge of his cap he growled and ripped the green covering from his head, wadding it in his hands and throwing it on the ground beside him. Freed from their confines and limp with sweat, his mane of fire hung haphazardly about him and shook with his attempted breaths.

Against the tight constriction of his jeans the evidence of Kenny's effect on him strained despite Kyle's profound desires otherwise. For a few minutes Kyle sat there, forcing air in and out of his abused lungs while flurries began to fall from a slowly clouding sky. The memory of Kenny's hands, Kenny's mouth, had a will of their own on his body, as though they followed Kenny's own wishes and fought against the calls of Kyle's own mind.

Even his own fucking body was against him.

Slowly but surely Kyle forced down the memory of those hot, unwanted touches and his body's malevolent response. Frustrated tears suppressed, erection softened, body taut, and mind, very temporarily, blank, Kyle stood and closed the remaining distance between himself and the noise and light of other human beings. His respite from Kenny, physically, mentally, metaphorically, metaphysically, was only going to be the briefest of brief moments if left to his own devices; and he was very determined to silence all of the questions and doubts pounding mercilessly at his state of being.

So focused was he that he marched straight ahead without first looking for Stan, and without stopping when he saw who stood beside his intended destination.

"Sup, Jewfag?"

Corpulent, relaxed, possibly intoxicated Eric Cartman stood resting against the hood of a pickup truck, right next to large array of booze; half-empty and empty handles were laid about, some missing their caps or with mismatched ones of clashing colors jammed on top.

Kyle didn't stop to look up at Cartman when he spoke; he walked straight up to the skewed line of bottles and began to examine them closely, raising them up to gauge their label and color in the dim light of the circle of lamps and the flickering fire behind him.

"Shut the fuck up Cartman," the murmur was a ghost of their usual faux-malice.

"Hey Jew, you should be—Shit, you're actually drinking Kyle?"

Kyle's first response was a grunt through his gritted teeth. He prepared himself for the onslaught of more verbal humiliation from Cartman and let his fists curl around the handles of bottles while his muscles tensed. He was ready to snap, waiting to fight; all he needed was for Cartman to give him a justifiable reason.

"Yes," he finally pushed out between his clenched teeth, shoulders tightened up near his neck.

He almost swung when a beefy hand landed on his strained back.

The hand quickly retracted when Kyle whirled back around to face his 'enemy'. "Dude, chill the fuck out Kahl." Cartman was rolling his eyes, hands up in a mock-submissive stance. He held out his hands to take the booze from Kyle. "Hand 'em over Jewfag. Christ knows you won't be able to make a decent drink."

For a second Kyle's shoulders dropped in bewilderment and his arms began to automatically press the alcohol in his friend's direction before he remembered exactly who it was he was talking to. He quickly snatched the bottles back toward his body, bringing them possessively to his chest.

"No fucking way Cartman. You're going to poison me or spike it with sugar or something." Kyle glared as forcefully as his remaining energy dictated; he tried to feel certain in his assumptions, but even he heard the paranoia creeping into his voice.

"Jesus Christ Kyle, I'm gonna make it right here. In front of you. What the fuck am I gonna do to it Kahl? Now stop being such a fucking pussy and hand over that shit."

Kyle watched his own hands accordingly press the objects in his hands out in offering and felt them pulled roughly from his hands with surprising ease. He watched numbly, dumbly, as Cartman made a dramatic show of opening each bottle and bringing his nose to the lip as if to smell the delicate bouquet of a finely crafted wine rather than the odoriferous, gaseous fire that scorched Kyle's nose several feet away. Cartman lifted one bottle after another, carefully sniffing, wrinkling his nose is disgust with exaggerated expressions and placing them back down to grab another. Finally, on the fourth bottle, he sniffed once, sniffed again and nodded sagely. He proceeded to search for several minutes through the bottles and their companions on the ground while Kyle watched from his shell-shocked position, trying to focus his attention solely on the movements of Cartman's body and far from the thoughts threatening to form. He just needed to hold out a little longer.

After what seemed entirely too long, Cartman stood and tossed something at the stock still basketball player, who reflexively caught the projectile: a medium sized bottle with dark liquid washing against its plastic walls.

Too frayed to even shoot his historical arch-nemesis a suspicious glance he merely unscrewed the cap; it clicked and hissed at him, spitting up sticky foam all the way. He gave the bottle a quick whiff before bringing the lip up and allowing a mouthful of sweetness to rest idly on his tongue, where the bubbles of freshly freed carbonation burned as they exploded. Once the bitter aftertaste of aspartame filled his mouth he swallowed down the familiar substance quickly to make room for air.

"Thanks," he muttered; he refused to look the other in the eyes while he said it. After well over a decade of frienemy-ship making nice with Cartman was still painful on occasions such as these.

Luckily his normally outspoken friend seemed to be in an unusually patient mood this evening, whether out of empathy, which was doubtful, or because he was already a little drunk, a much more likely scenario, didn't matter; there were more pressing issues at hand tonight. Instead of pushing Kyle's buttons, he simply chose to snort and roll his eyes again before holding out a hand for the bottle of diet cola that was silently passed over.

"Jesus fucking Christ Kyle, I'm not going to fucking poison you. You can stop staring at me, I don't wanna get your fagginess infested in me or something."

A pounding had begun in Kyle's brain, brought on under the pressure of forcing all thoughts of Kenny from his mind. He was tired and if he wasn't quick the images and sensations that were already starting to leak through the cracks would all spill out to the forefront of his brain. Instead of explaining that he wasn't actually watching Cartman, or correcting his English, _or_ getting pissed for the insult and gay slur, he grunted and glanced away momentarily while Cartman took far too long to make the simple concoction of booze and soda, pouring alternating substances into a bright plastic cup as though it were a difficult science and mastery of art, cursing every time he, frequently, missed the cup and spilt liquid on his hand or the ground.

After what felt like an eternity, what Kenny must've felt like after several hours without porn, as Kyle unwittingly, darkly mused_, _a full cup was pressed back into his gloved hand. He wasted no time in throwing back his head and drink to drown his thoughts in an eighty-proof sea.

* * *

><p>"-Mpmh! Here he is Craig." The sound of snapping twigs and crunching needles and pine cones stopped just behind his back.<p>

"Yeah. He is." The smell of tobacco smoke mixed with marijuana was pungent in the fresh air, newly lit and acrid.

"-Erg. What should we do?"

"Nothing. Let's leave him."

"We can't do that Craig! Urgh!"

"Why the fuck not?"

"What if he's got alcohol poisoning, gah?"

Despite the speaker's sense of urgency, the reply held no similar sentiment.

"He got a lot of it up. He's fine." The smell of his own vomit, acidic and sour, hit his nose again.

"Gah-! Craig."

"Let him sleep it off, he fucking deserves it for this fucking afternoon." Somewhat dimly he realized that it might have been the most emotional he'd ever heard the usually stoic Craig.

One of the bodies shifted, feet crushing the foliage beneath.

"Craig," spoken softly, gently. For some reason it made his chest hurt a little, deep in a foreign, recently built space.

"He can sleep out here all fucking night Tweek, let him fucking freeze." The scent of tobacco and marijuana came in a fresh stream.

For a moment there was silence.

"-But! Gah! But Craig! What if he gets hypothermia or something?"

"So what if he gets hypothermia?"

"He could, like, die! Then you'll get charged with manslaughter! And then-"

"Tweek, it's okay, okay? Here, just chill and take one of your pills. Don't get worked up over him, he was being a dick."

"Fuck you." His speech was still slightly slurred, and when he rolled from his side onto his back it was with a groan, but he _was_ awake goddamnit.

"See Tweek? He's fine." Another strong wave of mixed smoke punctuated the deadpanned response.

He sure as fuck didn't _feel_ fine.

"Gah! Kenny, you're alive!"

"Yeah," he mumbled loudly, "yeah, I'm fucking alive." He kept the _"and yippee-ho-fucking-yay" _to himself.

Kenny stared at the dark sky above, where the stars still twinkled, winking at him smugly, mocking his state of awareness and the mess he'd made.

Where was Kyle now? What was he doing? Was he telling Stan about what he'd done? Was he too embarrassedto tell Stan what had happened? Was he trying to clean the taste of his foul-mouthed friend from his violated lips?

Was he trying to forget Kenny, _Kenny-fucking-McCormick_, altogether?

A not-so-friendly kick in the side of his ass jarred the blond's attention back to the present.

"Hey dickwad, you really fucked up huh?" There was almost a laugh in Craig's somewhat stoned, only somewhat monotonous, voice.

"Shuddup Craig." Kenny shut his eyes and raised his forearm to drape it across his eyes, blocking out the nonexistent light that surely must have been the source of his pounding headache. He savored the soft, worn cotton that rested on his eyelids, one more barrier between himself and the reality of his mistakes.

"No." The sound of a shift in movement signaled Craig dropping to a squat with an ease surprising for his obviously increasingly fucked-up state. "Hey Tweek? Why dontcha go back to the party? You're gonna get too cold just standing out here. I'll get this asshole back okay."

"You sure Craig?" Tweek's voice still wavered slightly, but, for Tweek Tweak anyway, sounded almost calm.

When was the last time he'd heard Tweek so calm? Was it just whatever mystery pill Craig'd given him? And why was Craig the only one he did it around?

And why couldn't he be like that with Kyle?

"Yeah, go 'head Tweek. I'll be there in a minute."

"Alright."

The sound of the distancing crunch of frozen ground and the faint noise of ruffled brush followed by a surprised "Gah!" and a quick "I'm okay Craig!" signaled Tweek's departure, leaving the two remaining teens under the seabed of stars above.

"Hey, look at me asshole." Craig reached out with his, thankfully, empty hand to shake his the prostrate blond's shoulder.

With an irritated grunt Kenny slid his forearm slightly from his face and moved his head just enough to pop open one blue eye and settle it on his "helper" in a despondent gaze.

"What?" he demanded.

"So, what'd the fuck you do to Kyle dude?" Craig's voice was tittering again, full of giddy near-laughter.

"Fuck off Craig." He turned his head away and mumbled into his own shoulder.

The rare sound of Craig's laughter cracked loudly in the chilled air, first a hard snort then a succession of amused chuckles.

Kenny, lying on the frozen ground, wearing an equally frigid set of worn out clothes, with a throbbing in his brain, numbness in his chest and the taste of vomit in his mouth, did not find the situation nearly as funny. "Fuck you Craig," he croaked harshly, mood further soured.

"What're you now? Stan? You fucking emo pussy," Craig was still laughing out his replies, comments free of their normally scathing sarcasm.

"Must be some strong shit there," he spoke without turning to look as the air around him became smoggy once more. "You're less of a fuckin' douchebag when you're bein' a douchebag."

Craig managed to hold out long enough to expel all of the mixed smoke in his lungs before bursting into another fit of laughter. "Least I didn't get bitch slapped by my fucking little pussy boyfriend, fag." He paused momentarily to laugh at his own words before continuing, shaking Kenny roughly as he spoke, "He gotcha fucking _good_." Another wave of smoke punctuated his words.

Kenny lightly shoved away Craig's hand with his own, then brought the free one at his side to brush against his jawline.

"Fuck!" The exclamation was soft as he winced; his jaw was already swollen and extremely tender, and no doubt in the process of turning a very disturbing shade of deep, dark violet. Kyle didn't have to hit him _that_ hard. Kenny twitched the fingers that had so possessively attached themselves to Kyle's frame; okay, maybe he had.

"You're lucky he didn't rip your fucking head off dude," he laughed again and went silent briefly. "Fuck."

"Shit! Watch it dickweed!" Kenny shot up, moving frantically to brush the smoldering remnants of the hand-rolled cigarette that had been casually tossed only to land accidentally, or "accidentally", on a piece of pale, exposed flesh.

When he'd finished, and burning had ceased, Kenny turned to its cause. The culprit was sitting on the ground now, legs splayed open in front of him and resting on his palms with a dopey smirk half-visible under the light of the stars and moon. Even more powerful than the urge to sock that smirk right off, there was a sickening wave of nausea brought on by just looking at Craig's knowing, taunting face. Kenny wanted to blame his powerful desire to retch on the residue of booze still lurking in his bloodstream...He had a feeling it had more to do with those nasty feelings of remorse and shame trickling in through the cracks of clarity in his conscience.

He looked away again and focused on trying to copy Craig's seated position; the boozing and puking made his limbs too shaky to manage, and eventually he settled on sitting Indian style, slumped forward and staring at the dark abyss of ground in the open space between his legs.

"What'd ya see?" Kenny felt raw, exposed. He pulled up his hood and drew the strings tightly; he knew Craig could understand him just as easily, even if he didn't want to be. Right now, he just wanted to shut out the answers and everyone who held them. He wasn't sure if he could look any of his friends in the face just yet.

Craig let a gentle hum of mirth escape his lips. "Just Brosflov-, Brofloss-, Kyle bitching at some tree."

"Was he talkin' 'bout me?" He kept his eyes on the ground, trying and failing to rake his naked fingers through the icy earth.

"The fuck should I know?"

A thread of anxiety pushed its way alongside bile up his throat. "When?"

Craig's hearty laugh drilled into Kenny's ears. "'Who? What? When? Where? Why?' You're the fucking stalker, not me. _I'm_ not trying to fuck Kyle."

The bile had reached the back of his throat, where it stayed as each of Craig's words seemed to wrap itself around Kenny's neck, constricting, choking the life out of him.

"You're fuckin' useless Tucker," his managed taunt sounded hoarse and weak even in his own ears; he cleared his throat.

Craig just laughed loudly, at Kenny and to the sky. As soon as his laughter died silence surrounded the two teens, one reeking of cannabis and sangfroid self-satisfaction and the other crowned by a halo of self-loathing, seated only feet from a puddle of his own vomit.

Clouds washed over the light of the clear sky. A few flurries of snow fell about them and then ceased, leaving the gray clouds behind.

For several minutes they sat there like that, each in their own world.

"Fuck, Tweek." Just like that Craig made to stand. His alarming realization seemed to have shocked him slightly from his intoxicated state, though he when he stood now he stumbled quite a bit, holding out his arms to maintain balance in the process.

When he was firm on his feet Kenny followed suit, this time much steadier than he had been on the way down. Though that wasn't saying much.

Craig strode toward the party without checking to see if his friend was following him, singularly focused on another blond. Kenny slunk behind him, a few steps back, hands shoved into his jeans pockets and shoulders hunched. His head was still pounding, and he was in desperate need of something to clear the taste from his mouth, but he felt alright. Sort of. Kind of.

Not at all.

The distance from where they had sat, under the formerly clear sky, to the chaotic gathering of his peers seemed entirely too short. Out of sight but within earshot people were still 'celebrating' in the circle of lamplight, undoubtedly drinking and laughing and hooking up in dark corners. Normally this would have been his personal heaven, but tonight he only wished he wasn't here.

Partying harder than he had was not going to lift his spirits tonight.

He hesitated for a moment, stopped short, letting Craig venture on ahead, oblivious and uncaring about the fate of the his other blond friend behind him.

Kenny gave the unlucky tree beside him a soft kick, one softer than he'd intended.

There was a very slight buffer between the toe of his shoe and the hard surface of the tree, just noticeable enough in the drag in movement and the muffled _thunk_ to catch his attention. Lightly he shook off the encasement from his shoe and cautiously bent to pick up what had caught on his toe. A fabric something touched his hands, still warm. He brought it up, but half way to his face he stopped. It was too dark to make out the color or shape, but it didn't matter. He knew that smell. Kyle hadn't changed his shampoo in years.

Something indigestible seemed to form in his gut.

The ushanka was shoved into the large pocket of his parka. He resumed walking.

The blond, wearied boy entered the circle of his damnation with hesitant, skulking steps. He looked up to see that Craig already marching off in the direction of Tweek, just in time to notice the way Tweek's posture relaxed when he noticed his stoned friend heading over. Reluctantly, Kenny started to follow Craig to the small circle of conversation, but stopped still as soon as he saw who it entailed.

On one side of Tweek there was Craig, with an inebriated arm slung casually over the other's shoulder, chatting with Token. On the other side, as Tweek gravitated between both groups with some unease, was Butters...and standing next to him was that Bridon kid _again_.

A quick glance showed him that Kyle was not there, but wherever Bridon was he was sure Kyle would soon be. He just didn't feel like dealing with it all right now, and he didn't think he could stand being within ten feet of the angelic sophomore without developing a jealousy ulcer or giving into the still potent temptation to give Bridon some _physical _encouragement to keep his hands off Kyle.

...Not like he'd recently proved he deserved Kyle either though.

Kenny bit back a snarl, and balled up Kyle's hat in his tightly clenched fist. He turned and relaxed his expression, wiping away the emotion as he released the ushanka from his hot hand. Later there would be plenty of time for thinking, now was the time to search for his salvation.

With a brief visual sweep of the area, Kenny's eyes luckily alighted on Stan's back, standing off to the side, doing the "boyfriend thing".

The beloved football player was standing hip to hip next to Wendy, an arm around her waist pulling her snugly to his side, and Wendy, outspoken and confident Wendy, was doing the same to Stan. Stan's cup-bearing arm moved about occasionally to bring the drink to his mouth, and as Kenny approached them he could see Bebe and Wendy, as well as a few girls he didn't know, talking animatedly and giggling. Clyde had joined them, obviously vying for Bebe's attention, but his attempts to talk to her or break into the girls' conversation seemed to be failing rather splendidly as they ignored or outright yelled at him. Kenny rubbed a piece of Kyle's hat between his fingers while he watched the scene.

When Kenny reached them he put a hand on Stan's broad shoulder as he stopped half-behind and half to his side, in no mood to possibly get sucked into the gaggle of females. Or Clyde. "Hey," he said through the muffle of his hood.

Stan's head jerked up and when he turned to Kenny a dull, glazed-over look in his eyes evaporated into something like relief. "Hey dude," he greeted Kenny with a heartfelt smile, "What's up?" He squinted at Kenny for a moment and furrowed his brow. "Dude, you look like shit."

"Thanks Stan," he deadpanned. "Do you have any water? My head's fuckin' killing me."

"Uh, no, sorry d—oh wait," he bent his head closer than strictly necessary to the other raven-haired teen's ear, "Babe, do you have any water or anything?"

"Yeah, I have some in Bebe's car. Stan, are you feeling okay, did you drink too much?" Wendy only turned to head enough to look up into Stan's eyes as she half-inquired and half-nagged.

The hairs on Stan's hat-free head shook with the movement of his head. "No, it's for Ken."

For a moment Kenny had thought he was saved, but no sooner had his name passed from Stan's lips than Wendy Testaburger moved to strike. In one fluid motion she slipped her hand from her boyfriend's waist and whirled about in his arms, sending him slightly off kilter, her long dark locks of hair a flying curtain about her face. When she stopped moving Stan belatedly and slowly followed her, and Kenny found him staring into the hard, keen-eyed face of one of his worst nightmares.

"Oh, hey Kenny," her voice, like her face, was cold and piercing, laced with a faux-casualness they both knew could only possibly fool one person there. She crossed her arms across her chest as Stan made to resume holding her waist. "What happened to Kyle?"

And now he was fucked.

"Kyle?"

It was Stan who interjected this question; he was watching his girlfriend with bewilderment, but momentarily flicked his gaze to Kenny's barely visible, but decreasingly impassive face with a frown, as though he was beginning to put all of the pieces of the puzzle together.

"Yeah, he and Kyle walked off together a little while ago. They went into the woods." Once again there was that barely passable note of nonchalance, dripping with underlying, underscored, prodding and pushing; her face had graduated to an almost outright glare.

Kenny said nothing; he was spending most of his energy trying not to tell Wendy to mind her own fucking business in front of her boyfriend. He ground his teeth to protests of his jaw and his head, everything throbbing with excruciating intensity.

"Kyle's probably fighting with Cartman or something. I'm gonna go with Ken to grab that water, alright babe? We'll check up on them too. I'll be back soon." Without really waiting for a reply Stan swiftly placed a firm kiss on Wendy's cheek and motioned to Kenny to follow away from the group before any protests could be issued from the young woman's lips.

"Thanks dude."

"Kenny I just listened them talking about shoes for twenty minutes, cut the crap."

Their long legs strode further from the edge of the party scene where Wendy still stood, holding onto the cup that had been left in her care. As they neared the street, out of sight from the party-ers below, Stan stopped abruptly.

"Do I even wanna know about Kyle?"

Kenny stopped as well and thought for a minute. "No."

Without another word Stan continued and Kenny followed. When they reached the curb they walked alongside the line of cars interspersed up and down the road, bending to inspect under the lamplight which car was the one they sought. Kenny hung behind as Stan found the baby blue sedan, popped open the passenger side door and bent to rummage on the floor. When he straightened he threw the capped bottle in Kenny's direction more forcefully than needed and didn't apologize or move to help him search along the ground when the surprised teen missed the missile by a mile.

Stumbling a little, Kenny grumbled and muttered as he was forced to grapple for the rolling bottle, but when to grabbed it and stood he only shot a mute death glare in Stan's direction as the other boy frowned back at him, his hands shoved in his pockets. They stood there for a moment, the only sound that traveled between them was Kenny's _gargle_ _and spit, gargle and spit,_ as he rid his mouth of the horrible bitter taste lingering there. Uncharacteristically unquestioning Stan didn't say anything, just gazed at the blond in a way that suggested his patience was beginning to run very thin.

Finally Kenny reached the point of actually drinking the water, letting its purity settle his stomach and cease the blood vessels' screaming in his head. The duo headed back in the direction of the chaotic gathering in silence. Walking at a distance past his girlfriend, Stan pursued Kenny's close footsteps and as Kenny made to bear right toward the woods Stan put one strong, football trained hand on the back of the other's upper arm and squeezed. Hard.

The look Kenny received when he turned back to tell Stan to fuck off spoke in volumes: It was in Kenny's best interest to be directed by Stan and go quietly. Reluctantly he let himself be steered by the force of the steel hand inconspicuously keeping his arm in a vice grip. He kept his head down, save for when he needed to chug more of the water in his hand.

He didn't need to look up to know where they'd be heading. One of his hands fisted the green ushanka.

Several voices were all joined together, surrounding them as they approached, making it impossible to clearly distinguish which ones belonged to who or where they were. They stopped in front of a group of them, or at least two of them, judging by the number of shoes.

"Hey, you guys see Kyle?" Stan's tone remained amazingly calm, but his hidden hold on Kenny's arm gripped more harshly, most definitely leaving a series of bruises on his pale flesh.

A beat of silence passed before one gentle voice spoke up. "Well Stan, last time we saw him he was with Eric."

"Cool, thanks Butters." Stan turned and made to move, taking one step, and Kenny along with him, before stopping and turning back around to casually pose a question with acting skill that would have easily fooled anyone who knew him. "Oh, did you see where they went?"

There was another, briefer beat of silence before a different voice spoke, sweet as its predecessor, but more melodic; one that caught Kenny's attention.

"They were over by the drinks before. They went off with some of the others," Kenny's head snapped up to stare Bridon dead in the eye, and the younger teen paused. He held Kenny's gaze, eyes wide with a perturbed awe; cool air touched his cheek and sure enough Kenny raised his hand to find the hoodie skewed, readjusted it and pulled the strings more tightly. "I think they went down to the pond."

"Thanks man. See ya later Butters."

Without waiting or giving instruction Kenny was jerked away, dragged off roughly by his more muscular friend. They traversed the short distance to the pond quickly, barely avoiding the pitfalls of wayward branches and dips in the ground they knew like the back of their hands. The last vestiges of dim light vaporized and the sound of uproarious laughter guided them the last bit of the way, where a few teens were hanging around, dangerously close to the edge of the pond's black surface.

"Hey!" Stan called out in greeting as they approached and tried to let their eyes adjust to the dim light of the darkening sky.

"H-hey Stan!" First came Tweek's reply, followed by a casual "Hey guys," from Token; Cartman chimed in with a "Sup fags?". Although two more voices were clearly present they seemed too rapt in laughing their asses off to pay much attention to their surroundings. One was clearly Craig's, he'd heard that all-too familiar sound all-too recently. And the other's, it couldn't be, but it was.

Kyle.

And just what the hell was he laughing at?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading guys! I really appreciate your taking the time to read it and also seriously appreciate feedback. Hope you enjoyed!<strong>


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